


Hound of Hell you Cry

by kriadydragon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-28
Updated: 2006-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 142,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Col. Sheppard  is stranded on another world in a village where people are  mysteriously vanishing, and the team races to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Was this what it was like to feel fear?

The wraith moved at a crouch. Numberless centuries to perfect stealth had formed it into a natural action. He made no sound in the darkness, even with his breathing labored, and plenty of rubble for his feet to smash. Darkness wasn't absolute for his eyes, so he saw the obstacles and where to step around them. His movements were agonizingly slow to keep the silence wrapped around him.

Except there were some noises no amount of methodicalness could cover, like the beating of his heart. It could hear him just fine, and probably see him just fine.

The wraith listened in return, and heard the muffled thunder of it's heart, loud and everywhere. He felt the walls of the corridor around him give way to a massive chamber moaning from the wind squeezing through the chinks and cracks of the structure. The air smelled fresher here, and the wraith felt the wind stirring his hair and brushing across his bare arms. The hole where they'd entered was close by. His companion, however, was not, and more than likely had already left. He sensed his brother, just not with the finer clarity closer proximity afforded.

The wraith followed the stronger wind gusts and the scent of untainted air and plant life. He saw, cutting through the darkness like a pillar, water blue light spilling onto the floor and contained by shadows. The wraith quickened his steps toward that light. Urgency, that was all that he was feeling. The need to get out, rearm, then return to finish the job. He needed sustenance as well, which was just as easy to come by. With a weapon and with strength, he and his companion would prove a better match for the thing.

More of a match. The thing was wounded, so now was the time to strike.

The crashing of the massive heart was all around the wraith now. He lifted his head to hear, then slowed on catching the scent of strong decay.

It was here, in this chamber. The wraith's heart pounded. Then he increased his steps, faster and faster, going from a quick walk to a run. He heard the deep, resonating whuff of breath exhaled out of powerful lungs. The wraith was almost to the ceiling hole. He veered to the right and the wall where fallen beams and rubble created the stairway to the exit. He started scaling the debris while behind him claws clacked and small stones clattered.

A high, gutteral purr echoed sharp off the walls. The wraith dug his claws into one rotted beam, then into the next. He was closer now, could see the stars through the hole. Closer now...

A shriek tore through the silence like claws through flesh, high and rising, like metal being torn in half. The beam beneath the wraith shuddered and cracked when a heavy body impacted, knocking the wraith's grip free and sending him falling back into the void below. He hit the floor with a crunch, bones shattering like wood, already knitting but slow to heal due to exhaustion and hunger. The wraith rolled onto its chest with a grimace and hiss.

He started to push himself up with his hands, only to be slammed back to the floor by a heavy body of scales and thick muscle. The gutteral purr vibrated through the wraith's skull, and fetid breath brushed his skin. A clawed foot pressed into his lower back.

Is this what it's like to be prey? He was given no more time to ponder the question. Two sharp prongs pierced him through either flank, driving in deep to the lungs and heart. The wraith roared from the pain of its life force being sucked from it, thousands upon thousands of years, giving the wraith a taste of what it was like to age, a brief taste. Then the pain ended, and so did his life.

TBC...


	2. What Weapon Aganist the Wraith?

_Swinging to the rhythm of a new world order..._ Lt. Colonel John Sheppard couldn't, for the life of him, figure out how that song got stuck in his head. He neither new the name of it let alone who the hell sang it. He could, however, lay the blame on one Private McDermott. The supposedly clean cut and by the book marine had a dark side after all; vampire novels and what could be classified as both heavy metal and Gothic; all dark, disturbing, and depressing.

Although Sheppard knew he shouldn't be the one to throw stones. Johnny Cash had his plethora of dark, down-hearted songs. Though it was easier to fall asleep listening to the sorrow of Cash than to the anger of some thrash metal band. He'd heard the song during a routine escort mission taking a group of biologists to the mainland. McDermott had been one of three marines to accompany them, and since they were heading farther into land making the trip longer than usual, he got to pick the next song to listen to.

That had been a week ago, and for some inexplicable reason the song had decided to pop into John's head, repeating like a broken record.

John thrummed his fingertips on the side of his P-90 and shifted trying to position his now aching shoulder blades into a more comfortable spot that didn't have them pressing so much into the ornate carved reliefs of the high back chair. Sheppard had to whole heartedly agree with McKay; whoever had made these chairs was an idiot.

" We are not asking for a shipment of such weapons, simply the means with which to make them," said the tall man with the slightly bulging gut and poorly concealed receding hairline. He was probably only older than John by a year or two, but looked a hell of a lot older with his paunchy, sagging face and slightly pockmarked skin. He was dressed in a formal jacket of dark brown with matching slacks, and an off white shirt beneath that. He was sitting across the unnecessarily long table that looked to be made out of obsidian stone fading toward gray and spider-webbed by cracks. The little conference was clustered at the center of this table surrounded by forty overly-decorated, high-back chairs with dark red padded seats. On the tall man's side sat another man, just as tall but thin and sharp wearing a beige long coat trimmed with gold embroidery. Another man, sitting on the speaker's left, was more Col. Caldwell's age, medium height and thickly built, wearing a dark blue uniform that looked almost black in the weak light of the chamber. Sitting beside him was a woman, blond, with her hair pulled back in a tight pony-tale, wearing a gray dress jacket and skirt, taking notes on a machine very reminiscent of a type writer – a very old typewriter, like what they might have used in the 1930s.

 _Did they even have typewriters in the 1930s. Didn't really matter, the thing just looked old design wise._

Sitting across from the speaker were the Atlanteans. Dr. Weir was beside John, with McKay on her other side. Next to John was Lorne and Teyla. Next to McKay another marine and Ronon.

" Second Magistrate Larum," said Weir. " I'm sorry, it's just not possible. We are willing to provide military aid against the wraith if needed, but we cannot share weapons technology. It's one of our strictest policies. Medicine and advanced farming techniques are our offer but that's all. Weapons trade is forbidden, even the plans to construct weaponry..."

The acoustics of the chamber were good. Elizabeth's voice was level and controlled but came out a practical thunderclap that gave it a somewhat imposing edge. So unlike the table, the chamber's hangar-like size had a useful purpose. Its floors were a dark burnt umber with veins of a clear rock like yellow tinted quartz, same with the pillars that looked as though they'd sprouted straight out of the floor and were chiseled into shape. On John's left the wall was painted in a mural depicting a battle between humans and what John assumed were wraith. The hair was right, but not even Teyla or Ronon had yet to encounter a wraith with dark green skin. Seemed earth wasn't the only culture that assumed all aliens were green.

On John's right were ten foot tall, paned-glass windows flanked by gauzy blood red curtains, two pair of which billowed and rippled from the gusts of crisp autumn air creeping through the narrow gap of the partially opened panes. John's gaze drifted to the windows when Larum and his people brought their heads in close for a private conversation. The city outside was a setting out of Dickens, with tiled roofed buildings and cloud-columns of smoke from industrial complexes. The streets hidden within the forest of buildings was more future-gone-wrong; dirty, crowded, with carts pulled by six-legged fuzzy lizard things and little electric cars with the largest no bigger than a VW Bug. The weapons of this world consisted of rifles and hand-guns slightly larger but with less of an impact than a 9-mil (Enforcer Reik, the man in the blue uniform, had been quite beside himself to let Sheppard test a few and see what they could do. Pride didn't last long when John showed Reik what a P-90 was capable of.)

It wasn't an advanced society in earth terms, but fairly advanced in Pegasus galaxy terms. Power came from hydroelectric dams, so they had electricity, plus other conveniences such as running water, and entertainment in the form of radio shows. Still nothing akin to TV and movies, though.

Beyond the city rising jagged, ice-blue, cloud shrouded and white-capped were the surrounding mountains that marked the boundary of the city. Beyond the mountains lay the frontier, and the settlements established to reclaim what had been lost long ago when the Ancients had left. Or so Larum had told them with a lot of grinning and a lot more pride, as though booting people out into no-man's land had been quite an accomplishment. It wouldn't have bothered Sheppard if the whole settling thing was voluntary, but according to Larum, people had stopped volunteering long ago, so a forced selection was made when the city started becoming too crowded.

" We are not asking for anything of severity..."

John whipped his head back around at Larum's voice. The magistrate had his hands clasped on the table top, and though his expression could almost be called serene, his eyes were making John feel a little chilled.

" Something along the lines of the smaller, hand-held projectiles would provide far superior protection for those surviving the wilds than even our most top grade, long-barreled projectiles. Weapons, no matter how small, would prove more valuable to us than medicine and farming methods."

John had to swallow in order to stifle his desired snort of derision. Strolling through the streets had made John mentally check off all his recent booster shots, and he was pretty sure McKay was going to demand more of said shots the moment they got home. Just yesterday they'd helped some kid snag back a piece of food from a canine-like creature that had made a homeless, flea-bitten, mange infected earth dog look sanitary. And the kid hadn't exactly been smelling of roses either.

Elizabeth let out a short breath and stalled for time to think by staring at her hands. " Second Magistrate, We have shared our knowledge – only our knowledge – in the past in hopes of aiding others in the pursuit of a weapon against the wraith. Those seemingly small attempts have not only ended problematically for us, but for those societies as well..."

Though giving the Genii a little insight into slapping together a nuclear bomb had come in handy, Sheppard had to admit. But the Iothians didn't need to hear about that one, and only one, positive. Not with all the other attempts ending up as spectacular failures. The Hoffan situation was still a thorn digging into Beckett's side. The Scottish doc was worse than John when it came to taking blame. Although the Hoffan incident really wasn't Beckett's fault. John couldn't quite say the same for his own deeds, no matter the constant assurances when the deeds were brought up.

" And as I said before, it is our strictest policy to refrain from providing weaponry to other worlds."

 _And like you even need the weapons anyway_ , Sheppard wanted to add. None of the other Pegasus galaxy worlds had been so obnoxiously persistent about badgering guns from the Atlanteans. There'd been the occasional request, but most were content enough in having a technically advanced and yet friendly bunch of aliens backing them up when conflict involved the wraith and only the wraith.

What made the Iothians persistence more obnoxious was the fact that (barring those suffering the wild lands) they didn't need the weaponry. Wraith hadn't set foot or dart on the planet since the battle depicted on the mural. Even when the wraith had been stocking their meat lockers for their attack on Atlantis, they had obviously by-passed the planet that had been right smack in the wraiths' path of travel.

It was funky, to say the least. Had it not been for the loud testament to poverty in the streets below, it would have been easy to assume this another ascended Ancient guarded planet. So either the Iothians truly were ignorant as to the reason for their good fortune, or were holding out in hopes of snagging a few choice projectile blue-prints from the earthlings.

Past experience had everyone, McKay especially, going for the latter.

Except that in the three days time they'd been here, Sheppard found himself leaning toward the former. McKay had discovered no massive energy readings indicative of some kind of weapon or shielding – unless it was a weapon buried too deep for McKay to read anything – and had this planet gone the Hoff route and had managed to develop some sort of vaccine against the wraith, then they would have simply been wiped out, not avoided.

Personally, John didn't care whether the Iothians were being honest in their request for weapons in exchange that the Atlanteans be given free rein to find the source of the Ioth good fortune. They were being duped, John knew it with a bone-deep certainty that kept prodding at him to convince Elizabeth to just call it quits, pack up, and high-tail it off this Dickens novel gone wrong. But since it was Elizabeth and McKay against John, and with a threat having yet to rear it's ugly head, he saw no point to it, though he had managed to casually slip his two-cents worth in during casual conversation back at the inn.

" Then I'm afraid we have no choice," Elizabeth was saying in that tone of finality that John was always subconsciously tuned in to, developed out of two years of being forced to sit through McKay's scientific diatribe that didn't end until Elizabeth ended it. John jerked his head as though he'd fallen asleep. He wasn't exactly abashed that he'd mentally drifted off since the conversation had become nothing more than a back and forth barrage of 'gimme weapons' and 'no' - he just hoped no one had taken notice.

Dr. Weir stood, and the rest of the Atlanteans mirrored her. She lifted one shoulder in a non-apologetic shrug. " Our answer is no, and will remain no."

Larum inclined his head in acceptance. " So be it then." But his eyes were oozing severity. " I certainly hope your policy is worth what you are sacrificing for it."

 _Probably is seeing as how we don't even know what we're sacrificing_. The Iothians were prime examples of those who could talk the talk, but not walk the walk. Without the physical proof of the Ioth's good fortune before them all, the magistrate's words had as much irritating impact as a flicked toothpick poorly aimed. One cannot be sorry for what one never had to begin with.

The meeting was adjourned. The magistrate thumped a black rock on a stone gavel twice, and the over-sized metal doors molded in a pictorial mess of reliefs moaned open. Seri, the short, bald, slender but round faced aid appointed to the 'Lanteans shuffled in. The man dressed smartly but inexpensively in a gray-brown suit and an off-white shirt beneath. He bowed to the magistrate, then to the 'Lanteans, and swept his hand toward the door in a beckons for them to step out.

Everyone rose as one and moved as one to the door following Seri out into the arched ceiling cavern of a corridor. It was like walking down an elongated Vatican style chapel. The doors moaned back closed behind them so the magistrate could have a private conference with his people.

" I take it things did not go well," Seri said with a part sheepish, part apologetic smile. John liked Seri. The man was timid, but not shy about being realistic. He never spoke out right ill concerning the government of his world, but neither did he try to defend it.

" The wraith are more practical in their requests," Rodney muttered. " No offense, but the last thing your world needs is more powerful weapons. You need medicine. Hell, you need hand soap!"

Seri glanced over his shoulder and scrunched his brow. " I'm not sure what this 'hand soap' you speak of is, but I agree with you on the medicines. It's just that... with the settlers establishing villages farther and farther from the city, reports have been coming in concerning violent deaths by wild animals and wandering rogue bands stealing equipment. The magistrates have been focusing on ways to make the wilds less intimidating. Thus, their insistence for finding better weaponry rather than potential vaccines for many of the diseases running rampant."

The cathedral corridor ended at a flight of wide stairs opening into the cavernous entrance chamber with a cream brown and dark brown checkered floor. Seri took them through more metals doors and out onto the cobblestone streets walled in by connected buildings broken by darkened alleys every four buildings down. The streets were packed with bodies that brought the wagons and electric cars to a crawl. Seri kept the 'Lanteans close to the walls of the government house where the foul smelling bodies of the masses were less crushing.

" Will there be a trip to the gate, or do you wish to return to the inn!" Seri shouted above the rushing wave of noise.

" The gate," Elizabeth called back. " We're done here."

Seri glanced a little forlornly over his shoulder. " I am sorry to hear that. I had hoped you would be able to convince Second Magistrate to at least accept medical assistance."

They didn't travel far when they came to a stable four structures away from the meeting house. Animal musk and feces made the air hard to breathe, even standing outside. Seri went in unperturbed by the stench. Ten minutes later he returned riding shotgun at the front of a large wagon pulled by one of the larger six-legged lizards, this one black with an underbelly of gray. The wagon itself wasn't so much a wagon as a simple multi-person carriage with rows of benches in the bed. The 'Lanteans climbed in, and the wagon trundle off as soon as they were settled. An electric car would have been faster and less bone jarring, but the most the little cars could fit were four – five if the passengers were skinny enough and didn't mind squeezing together.

The going was slow in the pact streets, but picked up when they left the city's center behind them and entered the housing district. The wagon clattered down various streets until it entered the traveling district. They passed through an arched gate into a kind of courtyard where the gate was situated on a well trimmed lawn. Even now the gate was activated, rippling like the surface of a swimming pool, with people stepping out of the event horizon. There was no official schedule when it came to arrivals, but there was one for departures. Surrounding the little court where the gate sat was a gray-bricked building that was like customs. No one could move beyond the entrance to the courtyard without a pass, and no one could leave the planet without a pass.

The wagon turned as soon as it passed the entrance to stop beside the entrance to the building itself. Everyone piled out, digging through pockets or packs for their passes.

" I am to assume you are through concerning any future business on our world?" Seri asked as he took the 'Lanteans to the armed and blue-uniformed man standing beside the DHD.

" I'm afraid so," Elizabeth said.

Seri inclined his head. " I am sorry to hear that, again. As protocol dictates, I will need to take your passes before you enter the gate."

The gate shut down. The guard by the DHD pulled out something like a pocket watch that brought to John's mind images of a train conductor. The man checked the watch, then cupped his hand around his mouth.

" Departure in two minutes. Departure in two minutes."

Seri hurried up to the guard, spoke to him until the guard nodded, then turned to the 'Lanteans and waved them forward. John went first to dial to the alpha sight, keeping the guard in his peripheral vision and watching for a quirked eyebrow or lifted brow of interest. The guard, for the most part, had his gaze wandering lazily over the courtyard, and breathed out a sigh heavy on the woebegone boredom. The coordinates locked, and the gate rushed to life in a fist of liquid. The guard shifted to stand beside the gate as Elizabeth led the way through, handing him her pass, then the guard handing the pass to Seri. John hung back, intending to be last, because he was always last. Had to be – or at least in his personal book of military and protective procedures he had to be.

When Lorne next stepped into the rippling event horizon, John stepped away from the DHD and handed off his pass.

" I am truly sorry that no headway could be met," Seri said, taking the pass from the guard.

John shrugged indifferently. " Hey, we try, but some people don't want to give. And I'm sorry we couldn't make headway either. A lot of nice interplanetary folk would have loved the secret to wraith repellent."

Seri grimaced. " So we've been told. Time and time again. I personally would like to know the reason we're left untouched, but that's more because I'm a curious man by nature. Should I ever discover the secret, I just may let it..." he grinned, and winked, " slip, on this world or that. But I doubt the secret's going to be revealed in my life time. It hadn't when my grandfather was young, and he had actually been seeking the secret, not simply wondering about it."

John clasped Seri on the shoulder. " Hey, it's the thought that counts."

Seri shrugged sheepishly. " Farewell, Col. Sheppard. I doubt we will meet again, what with our policies and all."

Ioth wasn't big on visitors. Hence the passports needed in order to obtain entry into the city. There was a taboo, according to Seri, concerning visitors, and a fear that those visitors might become inclined to stay on the wraith untouched world. The general fear was that having a world so jam-packed with fresh food would cause the wraith to discard whatever fear or distaste they harbored for the planet and start culling again. There was actually a list of 'advice' posted all over the inside of customs on how travelers shoulder proceed – in groups, well armed, with a destination in mind, and no ideas about staying overtime. Once arriving, the visitor or visitors had to state the number of days or weeks they wished to stay. Attempting to stay a month was digging your own grave. John and company had gotten the hint quite nicely after nearly getting soaked in spittle from passer-bys. And if it wasn't germ-ridden saliva, then it was dirty looks that kept John tense as a bow string every second spent on this world.

John nodded to Seri. " Policies have their purpose, even if we don't get 'em. See ya around, Seri. Thanks for your help." He then stepped into the event horizon, wishing – once again – he was still in one piece to whoop through this intergalactic roller coaster.

They didn't stay at the alpha site for long – only a grand total of ten minutes. The gate to Atlantis was established and the secondary ride through the cosmos brought them home. The moment John's booted feet touched the smooth metal floor of Atlantis, every muscle in his body took on the actions of an uncoiling spring, tension going out of him along with a contented sigh. Col. Caldwell trotted down the steps, stone faced but expectant.

" Dr. Weir, welcome back."

Elizabeth gave the Colonel a weary smile as she headed up toward the debriefing room. " I can honestly say it's great to be back. A relief, actually."

John dismissed Lorne, the marines, and the rest of his team, then started following Caldwell and Weir, with Rodney following him.

" Things didn't go too well, I take it?" Caldwell asked.

" They didn't go at all," Elizabeth replied. The panels of the debriefing room slid open, and the four of them entered, Elizabeth taking a seat at her usual spot. " I told the Iothians no means no, and that was it. I'm not wasting any more of my time with these people, Colonel, I'm sorry."

John dropped himself down at his own seat, Rodney taking the seat beside him.

" Something tells me we wouldn't have found the answer to the Ioth riddle anyways," John said.

Caldwell, also in his usual spot, swiveled his chair around to look at Sheppard. " And what was that 'something' telling you this?" The man's expression was neutral, but his tone was a little on the patronizing side. John just grinned at him. A lop-sided smile was such an effective weapon in returning the irritation he always got served.

" My gut."

Rodney jerked his thumb in the vague direction of John's stomach. " And I'd have to agree with his gut. The fact that we found not even a hiccup of an energy signature on that world should have been a big indicator that we were in for a long torture session involving a lot of bartering and no results. And I know I said that if a device of some kind was involved then it could be buried too deep for a clear reading, but even then I should have gotten something. A flicker, a burp, some sort of energy output. So I'm very inclined to say that the Iothians aren't hiding some massive, kick-ass weapon under their feet. So that leaves the other alternative."

Elizabeth nodded. " Speaking of which..." She tapped her radio. " Carson, it's Dr. Weir. We're back, and I need you in the briefing room to tell me if you found anything on your end."

The radio waves weren't on broad-band frequency at the moment, so John didn't hear the Scot's reply, but guessed it to be along the lines of " aye, lass, on my way."

" Anything else to report?" Caldwell asked.

Rodney shifted in discomfort. " Just that it's going to take a week to get the smell out of my clothes."

" At least the food wasn't that bad," John countered.

" Yes, thanks to fact that we had a guide who knew all the right restaurants to eat at. Left on our own we'd probably be dead by diphtheria, or killing eachother over who got to the bathroom first."

John just smiled. But Rodney was right, they had been lucky. Seri had been considerate, polite, above the taboos, where as every other Iothian they'd encountered had either acted out-right hostile or masked their disfavor behind innuendos. That enforcer guy, Constable Reik, had seemed quite ready to pick a fight. He'd made Caldwell more of a pleasure to be around.

Then there had been that group trailing them the second day around. Five men in all, not dressed in rags but not really wearing the latest, fresh out of the clothes store brand of clothing either. The way the Ioth capital streets were crowded, there was no way Sheppard should have been able to spot the same group of faces twice, let alone ten times. Those men had been shadowing the 'Lanteans, Sheppard was sure of it. But now that they were home, with no intentions of ever returning to Ioth, John no longer cared.

Carson arrived soon after Elizabeth had radioed him in. He nodded a hello, then plopped himself into the seat beside Sheppard.

" I can tell ya now," he said, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. " Whatever that planet has goin' for it that's keepin' the wraith at bay, it isn't in the local population's blood stream."

During the three day visit, one of John's marines who was certified in providing first aid and medical care had managed to snag a few blood samples from the population. Samples were brought to Atlantis by another marine going back for 'required supplies'. In return, Beckett sent the marine back carrying the needed medication for those who'd contributed their blood in hopes of finding a remedy for their ailments. It would have been nice to have done the same for all the people of that world, but there had been only so much time, and so much medication to hand out.

" Perhaps there was something but it vanished over time," Carson continued. " Or like the protein on Hoff, only so many people have something anti-wraith related. I only know I wasn't able to find it."

Elizabeth took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. " All right. It's not technological and it's not biological. Unless a plague hits and the Iothians get desperate enough to trade the secret for medication, I doubt we'll ever know the answer."

" I doubt they even know for themselves," John mumbled.

" What?" Caldwell said. John just shook his head in reply. Sheppard was firm in the belief that the Iothians didn't know squat concerning what was protecting their world. And had the 'Lanteans been the ones to find out, he doubted the Iothians would have been quick to share the blue-prints, biology, or whatever the hell it was behind keeping the wraith from setting foot on that planet.

At the extreme moment, John didn't care. He was just glad to be back home, off of that cesspool. He'd seen his share of societies squabbling in the dirt because their governments never gave a damn about their own people, and it never lessened how much it sickened him. Plus John was tired, bone deep tired, from his constant state of instinctual readiness. Now that his muscles were unknotted, every joint ached and his head was starting to throb.

Elizabeth laid her hand out flat, palm down, on the table and rose. " I consider the matter with the Iothians closed unless something else pops up. For now, I believe a little down time is in order, so I'm suspending team gate travel for two days."

John smiled. " Won't argue with a little down time." Especially if it could involve potential camping on the mainland. John had discovered the perfect area of beach sporting massive waves. John had yet to test out his old surf board, the one a cousin had managed to dig out from storage at John's request via a letter from 'an undisclosed location'. John had just gotten the board when the Daedalus had arrived, along with a letter containing a single sentence from his cousin Ethan.

 _'This location wouldn't happen to be Hawaii, would it?'_ Oh, if only Ethan knew.

Elizabeth smiled back. " Good, because it's mandatory. Dismissed."

John rose quick with the intent of making a fast getaway when something snagged his sleeve. Looking back, he found that something to be Carson's hand. The Scottish doc was giving him a withering look.

" I believe there's still a little matter concerning the post mission exam."

John winced. " I was... uh... Just heading to the infirmary now, doc."

Carson rose, keeping his fingers curled on John's sleeve. " Like bloody hell ya were lad. Come on. You can be the first."

John gave Carson a pathetic smirk. " 'Cause I'm your favorite patient, right doc?"

Rodney, rising, threw his head back. " Ha! I believe the good doctor would prefer working on a sheep rather than you."

" At least once the Colonel leaves, he doesn't come back," Carson countered. John flashed Rodney a triumphant grin. Rodney glowered, and mumbled under his breath something about hoping John got the biggest, baddest needle of the bunch.

sssssssssssssssss

John set himself gingerly down on the edge of the bed, and bent in the same manner to untie his boots. When the laces were loosened, he kicked them off, then dropped back onto his bed, scooting around until his head was on his pillow and his long legs were stretched out on the end. He exhaled a long breath, deflating his lungs like a balloon, entwined his fingers on top of his chest, and closed his eyes.

Of all the things to be grateful for when it came to the comforts of home, the one that topped the list was a bed that fit his length. Apparently, nobody on Ioth surpassed five foot. They skirted the edges of reaching six foot, but both John and Ronon had stood out a little extra because of their height.

John arched his back until the vertebrae popped. He and Earth may not have been all that tight, but he'd never been more glad to be born on that planet than he was now. Even more glad that he'd come into existence in a non-third world country. And it was nice to realize this without having to lose it. As the adage went; you don't know what you have until it's gone, and one had to count themselves lucky to be able to realize this without losing anything. John found it both laughable and pathetically sad that a world free of the wraith was even more of a crap-hole planet than those worlds plagued by the wraith.

John would like to say that perhaps a little taste of what the wraith could do might slap Ioth's government into focusing on bettering itself, but that would be kind of defeating the purpose. Plus, as John liked to say, they weren't all bad people. The magistrates might deserve a culling or two, but not people like Seri.

Massive government foibles aside, Ioth had just plain gave John the creeps. He couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why, whether it was something specific or had been a general feeling from the emotional bombardment of seeing so much poverty. Except seeing a society in such a state of decay and meeting officials who didn't seem to give a damn tended to generate more feelings of anger than unease, so John couldn't say it was that, or that alone. Ioth was a society that would fall apart from the inside out. There would come some kind of revolt or upheaval, a lone voice calling to the masses to follow him or her into making their world a better place. Then he or she would be lifted up onto the shoulders of those masses, made a leader when the old leaders were dealt with, and either he or she would lead the people into a utopia, or do the Hitler thing and go all power hungry, killing those who they thought needed to be killed, and letting only the ones they wanted to live, live.

Unless everyone decided to just ditch the city and go set up shop in the wilds. But potential Hitlers wasn't what had been sending a constant river of chills down John's spine.

Thugs, muggers, and the potential Hitlers hyping up hatred toward off-worlders? John didn't discount them. They'd been the reason he'd stayed so tense the whole time they were on that planet.

Without an explanation to what was keeping the wraith away, it gave the planet a feel of... wrongness. That had to be it. Something on that planet was so bad it got even the wraith to turn up their noses, and it sure as hell wasn't the smell. The subconscious, automatic, protective parts of the brain didn't like the inexplicable, the mysterious. It made the mind go haywire, brought out the hysterical, so to avoid it, the brain scrounged for any explanation it could, sometimes going for the ludicrous, but most of the time settling on the simplest. It all came down to self preservation, keeping one's sanity intact no matter the cost, and the cost was usually self delusion that could very well lead to self destruction when one blatantly ignored the dangers just because it didn't fit in with reason.

Kind of an oxymoron state of existence, but one that could easily be avoided through keeping an open mind and excepting an explanation as only an explanation, not as fact.

On a few rare occasions, ignorance really could be bliss. John didn't need an explanation as to why Ioth was being spared. More than that, he didn't want an explanation. The mystery of it created an annoying itch, but an itch John would live with if the truth was more than his human reasoning brain could handle. People like McKay, even Elizabeth to some extant, might try to discover some other means to scratch the itch further down the road. As for John, he craved adventure, and liked it more when there was a little mystery to it, but he wasn't profoundly curious at heart, not like McKay or Elizabeth.

Some secrets and mysteries were better left buried.

With that in mind, John shifted, settling more comfortably on his mattress, and pushed away thoughts of Ioth.

They could keep their secrets.

SGA

Two Weeks Later

" Teyla, my dear!" The old man Kitek called as he headed to the 'gate at the same time Col. Sheppard stepped out. Kitek was dressed in his farming clothes – frayed brown overalls and a dirt-stained shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The man had removed his wide brimmed hat, giving the sun free reign to beat down on a head nearly bald say for a few wisps of white hair. The rest of his hair, it seemed, had gone into making his snow-white beard that extended to his slightly paunched belly.

Teyla smiled at her old friend, and when the two were near enough, they both bowed to touch foreheads. Kitek and his people were the oldest allies of the Athosians, as well as the most favored trading partners. Kitek had known Teyla's father, and was like an uncle to Teyla. She tried to visit as often as she could on a weekly basis, normally on a Sunday since missions were never scheduled on Sundays. It didn't matter the galaxy or the planet; Sunday had been deemed a day of rest since the dawn of time, and that's the way the Atlantean-earthlings were going to keep it.

When the Athosian form of greeting was complete, Kitek moved over to Sheppard and threw his thick arms around the taller man. John was in no shape or form a weakling, but Kitek had brawn that could have easily crushed the Colonel's ribs if he was so inclined. The gentle Kitek would never even consider doing such a thing, but tended to get a little overzealous in his greetings that left a few light bruises on John's flanks.

For the most part, Kitek settled for crushing the air out of John's lungs.

" Colonel Sheppard!" he bellowed. " So glad you came as well."

John grunted when the air rushed from him, and offered Kitek a pained smile when the old man released him.

" Hey, Kitek," he gasped, rubbing his side. " I'd say long time no see, but I just saw you last week."

Kitek gave John a hardy slap on the back that knocked more air from him. There would be a lovely mark on his spine to go along with the ones on his sides.

" A week is still a long time, my tall friend. Come along. The wife has lunch prepared if you are hungry." Kitek started leading the way down the gentle slope of the grassy hill toward the rather large faming village clustered in the center of the massive valley made a patchwork of various shades of green from the fields. It reminded John of the village from The Village, except that the monsters (i.e. wraith) were real. Kitek's people knew how to handle culls, though. In the town square within the meeting hall were several trap doors that led to underground tunnels. These tunnels led to a cave beneath the hill large enough to fit everyone and then some. A certain secret knock was practiced so that stragglers could be admitted through the massive metal doors. Every town on this world had such a cave, which was why this planet still had a population after the last cull.

The town seemed to have even more of a population today, some of which were dressed in a different fashion than Kitek and his people.

" It is a week of trade," Kitek explained over the noise as they maneuvered through the bodies. " The crops came in good, giving us plenty to barter with. Plenty more of the Cles fruit if you are interested Teyla."

Teyla smiled. " I was planning on mentioning that very fruit to you. It has become quite the favorite with both Athosians and Atlanteans."

Cles was what passed for apples in this galaxy, only a lot more sweeter, and when combined with the Athosian equivalent of a grape made one hell of a fruit salad.

Kitek took them to a modest, beige-walled two story structure with three windows on the second floor and two on the first. The front entrance led straight into the kitchen, where Kitek's wife Aleia was bustling about the table setting out bowls and plates. She was a plump woman with iron gray hair tied back in a braid. She wore a sky blue dress and a collection of necklaces known to be good luck charms. Busy at the stove was her daughter, Mir, also a little plump, with honey blond hair and wearing a light green dress. Clinging to that dress was a little boy no older than two wearing overalls just like his grandfather. He had one hand clutching the skirt, and the other utilized in holding what looked to be a red stick that he was contentedly sucking on, smearing sticky red juice all over his face and hands. At the entrance of the newcomers, the boy removed the sucker from his mouth to point and squeal in delight.

Greetings were passed around, and Teyla and John were invited to sit as Aleia spooned food onto the plates. As always, she gave John a little extra. She never said it, but Kitek always said it for her, but she had this unwavering belief that John could do with putting a little more meat on his bones. The men of this world tended to be more heavily built in the upper body due to so much farm work and having to handle animals that could put oxen to shame. Just as earth people during the seventeen hundreds believed being chubby was a sign of good health (and fortune), the people of Nelak saw a heavily muscled upper body – like with Ronon, which was why he never got the extra food when he visited – as a sign of good health. So it didn't matter how much John had tried to prove the belief otherwise by aiding in a little heavy lifting, Aleia was firm about fretting over John being too 'thin'.

John didn't worry about it. He had taken down plenty of guys twice his size and weight, half the time before the fight was even given a real chance to begin. Ronon had once commented – after such a fight – that John had an advantage when it came to his more slender build. Underestimation for one thing – the big guy doesn't see the little guy as a threat, so goes in to take the little guy down without a formal plan of battle. For another thing, there was speed. John still wasn't able to outrun Ronon, but he had quick reflexes, was limber, and had good balance.

In other words, size didn't matter. As Ronon had once put it; strength means nothing if you don't know how to use it. And Sheppard knew how to use his.

As they ate, they talked, with Kitek and Teyla holding most of the conversation. The little boy tottered around from chair to chair on chubby, unsteady legs. When he came to John, he practically fell onto John's leg to curl his chubby, sticky fingers into a tiny fist. He chatted away in baby gibberish, then held up his candy for John to take. John took it, the child dropped his hand, lifted it again to take the candy back, then tottered off to repeat the process with Teyla.

John tried to eat everything on his plate, but Aleia kept dishing it on, giving him seconds, then thirds. He politely passed on the thirds and escaped before his stomach could explode by insisting he needed to step outside for some fresh air. He wandered through the flow of bodies to stands and wagons trading produce, hand-made jewels, pots and pans, cloth, and what looked to be Ancient devices being traded as novelty decorations. John considered bringing in McKay to see if any looked worth trading chocolate for. A few lit up when John passed, and he quickly made himself scarce before anyone could make the connection.

At the next cart selling a combination of items, including Ancient, John's arm was jostled and he felt a small pinch at his wrist. He lifted his wrist looking for some kind of bug-bite like mark. Then the world tilted and flipped around him. His stomach flipped with it, and his legs shook from a sudden onslaught of lethargy.

" What the hell?" he put his hand to his head and turned, which made the world both spin and blur. He could feel his heart racing, and his breathing increased to keep up.

" Sir, are you all right? Sir?"

" I think he's going to be ill."

" Did he hit his head?"

" Someone call a healer!"

Strong fingers wrapped around his other arm.

" Teyla?" he slurred. He turned his head, the world went wild, but he was able to make out that the person gripping his arm wasn't Teyla. They weren't even female.

" It's all right folks, it's all right," came a distinctly male voice. " He's just a little touched in the head, needs his medication. Come on, old friend, this way." His arm was tugged, and the pressure from the fingers increased. He felt himself being physically escorted through the masses as his mind screamed at him to pull away. Except he couldn't since his brain seemed to have detached from his body, forcing his body to run on automatic. He stumbled to be half dragged from the town, then up the hill where another man took him by his other arm. They came to the gate, and a third man whose face Sheppard couldn't focus on dialed. The gate rushed to life, the motion making John's stomach twist and the acid churn.

" Did you leave the note?" someone nervously asked.

" Right where they could find it," someone else answered.

" Good."

Something was draped across Sheppard's shoulder, and something else was thrust partway down his face – flopping like the loose brim of a wide hat - obscuring his vision of everything except for the ground. The two men hauled John through the gate, and the moment they stepped out the other side, John's stomach rebelled and he heaved and choked until vomit came spraying out.

" Hey! What...?"

" Too much to drink, sorry."

John lifted his head on his suddenly weak neck. The world wobbled, but what he managed to make of his surroundings made him furrow his brow. He'd been here before, he knew he had.

" All right then, passes seem to be in order. Welcome back to Ioth," drawled the apathetic voice.

John's heart took a dive into his stomach.

 _Oh son of a..._ He never got a chance to finish the thought when he promptly passed out.


	3. Welcome Back

Alarms blared like mechanical trumpets as soon as the first chevron lit up. Marines poured into the gate room to surround the perimeter, and Elizabeth walked fast but controlled into the control room. The event horizon rushed to life with the liquid fist held back by the flash of the prismatic shield.

" Receiving Teyla's IDC," the gate tech announced.

" Lower the shield," Elizabeth replied. The shield blinked off, and five seconds later Teyla emerged, stepping out as though walking through any other door. She didn't pause to take into consideration the armed marines with P-90s pointed at the gate. She moved at a half run up the stairs and straight into the control room, pulling a folded slip of gray parchment from her vest and stretching out her arm to hand it to Elizabeth.

" Something has happened to Colonel Sheppard," She stated, breathless but patient.

Elizabeth looked from Teyla to the note, then quickly unfolded it in shaking hands. She read it, and the more she read, the wider her eyes went, and her jaw gradually slacked open.

" What the hell!" She snarled, and caught the quick looks of discomfort from the techs around her. She didn't care if her reaction had been uncharacteristic. She was too pissed and frightened to care.

Elizabeth lowered the letter and tapped the radio at her ear. " Colonel Caldwell, we have a situation, I need you in the briefing room." Running on the same 'no time' momentum, she turned to the tech behind her. " I need the rest of Sheppard's team up here now. Tell them we have an emergency."

The tech nodded and relayed Elizabeth's message with the tone of someone asking for a price check on so-and-so isle. Elizabeth turned on her heels, heading for the briefing room, with Teyla keeping stiff pace beside her.

" I am sorry, Dr. Weir. I should have been more aware..."

Elizabeth held up her hand to stop her. " Don't start blaming yourself, Teyla. You'd been on a recreational outing, not a mission. You weren't supposed to be aware."

Teyla nodded, but didn't appear convinced.

" What the hell!" Rodney's attempt at sounding angry always made his voice come out verging on a shriek. He lowered the gray parchment to give Elizabeth a pale, shocked, indignant look. " Is this a joke? Because, seriously, it's kind of hard to see it as otherwise." He passed the paper without realizing it to Ronon.

Elizabeth had her hands folded on top of the table, casual in bodily appearance except for those hands trying to squeeze each other out of existence, but succeeding only in blocking the blood flow. " Rodney, since when has anything that has happened in the Pegasus Galaxy been a joke? Although I will admit that this has to be the most... _unorthodox_ situation we've come across to date."

" More like cliché," Rodney replied. " Who the hell do these people think they are demanding P-90s for the return of Sheppard?"

" Very stupid people," Ronon rumbled, handing the note back to Colonel Caldwell.

Caldwell folded the note to slide it to Elizabeth. " Do you think the Iothian government is behind this?"

Rodney snorted at the suggestion and rolled his eyes, seemed about to say something, then had second thoughts, snapping his jaw shut and looking suddenly thoughtful. " You know, I actually wouldn't hold it past them."

Elizabeth unfolded the note to look it back over. It _was_ a cliché. Weapons for Sheppard. They were to come to Ioth in three day's time to trade a crate of 'rapid projectiles' for 'your tall, dark-haired fighter'. The trade was to be made at the Ring Station inside Item Inspection, and there was to be no getting the government involved.

It sounded simple enough. Elizabeth assumed the kidnappers probably had some clever means to slip their contraband from the station. As long as Sheppard was returned, it didn't really matter. Except there was that one little setback Elizabeth was forced to remember – it didn't matter the galaxy, the policy of not dealing with terrorists still stood strong. One might not consider alien kidnappers terrorists, but no matter the world, once they got their foot in the door there was a good chance they would pull another stunt like this to demand even more from the Atlanteans. Elizabeth didn't need to look at Caldwell to see his resolve. She could practically feel it pushing against her like a bulldozer.

Caldwell went ahead and pushed further. " We can't give into their demands, Dr. Weir. You know this."

Elizabeth internally winced. She did, and it hurt more than she thought humanly possible.

Rodney slammed his palm onto the table with a resounding slap. " Why the hell not! Because of more military policy crap? They've got Sheppard, and you know just as well as I do that if roles were reversed, he'd be doing everything he could to get us back."

" I didn't say we give up on Sheppard," Caldwell shot back, which surprised Elizabeth. Of all people to give up on Sheppard – petty though it might have been – she had always expected Caldwell to be the first. " I just said we can't give into their demands. Giving a crate full of rapid fire weapons to a group of apparently petty thugs will send that world spiraling into a much deeper chaos than what it's already mired in. We need to get Sheppard back but not at the risk of endangering another society, no matter how heading to hell in a hand-basket that world is."

" Give 'em faulty weapons," Ronon nonchalantly suggested.

" That's still giving them weapons," Caldwell said. " Weapons they could duplicate."

Rodney snapped his fingers. " Not if all the parts weren't present. Give them P-90 shells instead. Hell, give them P-90 shaped water-guns. They want to make the trade in a public place so it's not like they're going to test fire them right there and then."

Elizabeth perked at this and her heart beat fast. " Actually, that's not a bad idea. Let's do it."

SGA

Taking the P-90s apart and putting them back together minus a few essential parts had been easy. Waiting for three days to go was not. The rest of this matter, Lorne suspected, was going to end up being more trouble than it was supposed to. It all felt too easy, but whether it was or not depended on these kidnappers, so he couldn't be certain.

Lorne took the front end of the crate, and another marine the back. On either side walked Teyla and Ronon, Teyla since she had some negotiating skills being a leader, and Ronon because it was always a good idea to have a little extra muscle and fire power handy. It was to be just the four of them, in and out as quickly as possible. They stood before the gate of the alpha sight, safely distanced from the exploding vortex. When the event horizon congealed, Lorne gave the shout to move out, casting a momentary glance over his shoulder at the tense, worried, and fidgeting Dr. Weir. She gave him a nod that was her silent 'come back safe'. Lorne nodded back - 'we'll bring him home' - then faced forward and marched into the even horizon.

They tore through the wormhole and stepped out the other side. Once remolecularized on the other side, the guard at the DHD immediately stepped over to them.

" All arriving parties will not pass through the gates without an authorized pass."

To which Teyla replied with a polite smile, " We will not be requiring entrance to the city. We are here on a trading run."

The only positive to all this was that they didn't have to lie. The guard glanced at the crate, then the small party. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. " Over there for item inspection. Someone should be with you in a bit, but it's the midday mealtime so it may be a while."

Teyla nodded. " Those we are trading with will be dealing with inspection. We are merely dropping off."

With a go-ahead nod from the guard, the small group headed to the right hand wing of the surrounding complex. The inspection unit of the building was offset by the fact that it had no windows, and the door was made of a thick, heavy metal. It took both Ronon and Teyla to shove the door open, and they stepped into a large, dimly lit room cluttered with crates and boxes varying from wood to something plastic-like to metal. They set their own burden in the middle of the floor, and turned to face the door.

McKay had been the one to calculate the time difference between Atlantis and Ioth from recollection, and had his calculations proved true ( which they probably did, knowing the little brainiac), the trade would be taking place within five minutes.

Eight minutes went by, and neither kidnapper nor even an inspector showed up. But should an inspector show up instead, they already had an excuse prepared for the need to suddenly depart. Nothing made an enemy faster than bringing weapons to a bunch of low-lifes after having denied a needy government of the same weapons.

That is if the government wasn't already involved. Lorne was either way on the issue. To him, Ioth was a world where anything went.

Eight minutes turned into ten, and the marine next to Lorne – Lt. Stewart – began shifting restlessly. Ronon was fingering the trigger of his weapon despite having nothing to shoot. Lorne had to wonder if the wait was purposeful, or if something had gone wrong.

When the seconds ticked toward the time becoming eleven minutes, the door shrieked open, and three men stepped inside, two of which were carrying a wooden crate between them. The two men set the crate down, and the third man stepped up to the Atlanteans. The man was short, probably in his thirties, but with slightly thinning and stringy brown hair swept to the side across his scalp, a round face, and the inability to hide the fact that he was nervous. The other two men appeared somewhat younger; one tall with dark close-cut hair, and the other with shoulder length dirty blond hair even more stringy than the short man's. Neither one of these men betrayed any signs of unease, or any emotion for that matter say for minor suspicion.

" Did you bring them?" the short man asked, his voice high and wavering. Lorne and Stewart stepped to the side and popped off the top of the crate, flashing the row of defunct P-90s within.

" You bring our man?" Lorne asked.

Shorty's eyebrows shot down as he tried to pull of a look of intimidating anger. He'd had better luck trying to hide the fact that he was nervous, and reminded Lorne of a pouting little kid trying to stare down dad.

" The situation has changed."

And this was why the military didn't like to negotiate with terrorists. Whether Al Quida or just a bunch of snotty, gorilla wanna-be punks, they were all so damn demanding.

Shorty shifted, swallowed, and pointed at the P-90s. " You have more powerful weapons than this. We want to see what you have. Bring what you can in another three day's time. If not, then we will have no choice but to dispose of your friend."

Ronon's lip curled in a feral snarl and he stepped forward. Shorty stepped back, his throat bobbing in a convulsive gulp.

" Hurt any of us and your friend will get twice as punished. Three day's time."

The two men handling the wooden crate were already loading it with the P-90s, and working fast. When finished, they placed the top back on and fit it into place with a few soft taps of their fist. They took the handles of the crate and headed out, with Shorty following by backing up to keep an eye on the 'Lanteans.

" Three days, same place. After that, if we like what you bring, you can have your friend back." Then he darted out the door.

The 'Lanteans stood there, too dumbstruck to speak or even twitch, say for Ronon who began shaking with rage. He lifted his weapon and took one step forward in the blatant intent to pursue. Lorne snapped from his stupefied daze fast to snag the runner's sleeve and stop him.

" Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. We can't just go running them down. We can't enter the city, remember?"

" Then what do we do?" Teyla asked with a voice teetering toward frantic. " We cannot trust Colonel Sheppard with these people. They have lied to us and will surely lie again..."

Lorne passed his hand over his mouth. " I don't doubt that. We need to get back to the alpha site, apprise them of our situation and go from there. Chances are, we're going to need to do something different before these guys realize we've double crossed them." Lorne noticed something on the smooth metal floor of the chamber, and stepped forward to bend and pick it up.

It was a black wrist band.

SGA

Caul walked fast through the streets, twisting his body to slip through the masses, not caring whether Gyr and Felz kept up. They knew where to go so it wasn't like they needed to follow him. He passed his hand over his sweaty face, then wiped his brow on his sleeve when that didn't cut it.

And it wasn't even hot outside. The days had been growing cooler with the onset of autumn, making the air crisp and even the smallest breeze biting. But the air around him now was permeated with the heat of so many bodies, and stifling to breathe with a plethora of smells from baking foods to sweat to decay. Caul took shortcuts through the debris cluttered alleys with pools of standing water that when splashed through released their own individual foul odors. Caul did not slow even when he reached his destination – the faded red middle building of a four complex structure. He took the wooden stairs to the topmost floor and barged into the sparsely furnished front room, at the moment devoid of any other person, and stopped before the closed door at the other end.

The loft had four rooms, the main one Caul stood in now, another to the right containing five sleeping mats covered by rumpled blankets, the third through the door Caul stood before, and another, smaller room beyond that.

Caul did another swipe at his face and entered. The room beyond was larger, longer, but completely empty save for a few crates stacked in the corner. Across from Caul was the next door, closed. Caul approached and pressed his ear to it. No muffled voices were heard, so he pressed down on the handle and inched the door open a crack.

He stared at the tall, slender man bound to the chair with his hands tied behind, his feet tied to the legs, and a blindfold over his eyes. His head was bent forward far enough for his chin to touch his chest.

Caul slipped into the small room. In the corner was the man's things – his weapons, the jacket, and vest he had worn. Caul looked away from the items and back at the man. Caul's fingers twitched. The man was harmless. Even if Mical had forgotten to drug him, he was too securely trussed up in that chair to act out any violence.

Caul needed to make sure.

With a quaking hand, Caul reached out to the man's neck and pressed his fingers to the pulse point. There was a pulse, slow, lethargic, but existent. Caul sighed with relief. Mical hadn't overdone it again. Then Caul tensed, and put both hands on either side of the man's head, lifting it.

Mical hadn't needed to overdose. He'd gone the brutal route. Caul could see the beginnings of a bruise peeking out from beneath the blindfold. Caul's breath caught. He gently lowered the man's head back to resting on his chest, then stepped away.

Caul was well aware that he was fooling himself thinking the drug as a reason not to give way to violence. If anything, the violence was safer. Mical tended to get impatient when it came to their bargaining chips regaining consciousness and Caul wasn't around to administer the proper doses of the Aldi serum. Mical either over did it, killing the person, or under did it so fell back into knocking the person unconscious rather than trying again.

Caul placed his hand over his mouth, an unconscious action when he was agitated. He hated this – all the planning, kidnapping, making demands, then fleeing when it all went down hill. It was all Mical's fault. Caul had always been afraid of his cousin, and for that reason could never say no to him. Beginning back as far as Caul could remember. And then, in the end, all of Caul's planning that Mical relied so heavily upon fell to the pits because of Mical's little amoral streak. Mical liked to bruise up their captives; said people would take them more seriously if they showed a hard edge.

The kidnappings were always Mical's idea, the rest was the work of Caul's own mind. He'd been the one to make connections in the governmental house, learning of potential diplomats and officials to be taken for ransom, and thus discovering the existence of a group of people known as the 'Lanteans with weapons someone had witnessed tearing holes through sheets of metal. He'd been the one painstakingly traveling from world to world with Gyr and Felz, asking about these people, discovering the places they traded, and where they went the most, all under the guise of wanting to trade with the 'Lanteans. He'd come across teams of these 'Lanteans, but never the ones he wanted until he came to that planet and spotted the tall, dark haired man. Caul had had everything he needed – the poison, and paper and ink for the note – the rest fell into his hands.

It had all been Caul's doing, Caul's work. It always was. Success was practically a given the first time around. Then Mical would get greedy, demand more, and everything would fall apart. Sometimes the demands refused to be met, other times Mical went too far, severely wounding their hostage, or killing them the moment they were brought in. Then they would run to some other obscure part of the capital, taking what they managed to procure with them, and leaving their hostage behind to rot, whatever their state.

Each time it twisted Caul's stomach into knots. He couldn't fathom Mical's indifference, how he kept from letting the deaths eat him alive, and that frightened Caul even more.

Caul heard the groan of the front door, and whirled around to see Gyr and Felz stepping into their bare supply room to set down the crate of 'Lantean weapons.

Caul watched them, trembling. It was different this time. These people, these 'Lanteans, were said to be powerful, dangerous. Caul's contacts had talked about them as though they were the Ancestor's themselves. The big, dark skinned man of the group had looked quite ready to break Caul's neck at the lack of their man's presence. Hadn't Caul's contact mentioned something about the tall, dark-haired man being the one giving orders to the other armed people of that group? That's why Caul had singled the members of that group out, because somewhere within that group were leaders and people of importance, people like this man, a soldier, and an apparent leader. If this man's people were hostile over not seeing their friend, what would they do should their friend die?

Caul shuddered. They were pushing it, really really pushing it, and all for a bunch of weapons to sell at the black market. Although they'd taken hostages for less. Caul had to admit, this was the biggest demand they'd ever made, with a people they never knew existed until weeks ago. It thrilled Caul while at the same time terrified him, making him want to run, while at the same time – at times - unable to even move.

 _You're a part of something, Caul._ Mical's words. Caul hadn't believed a single one, but hadn't had the spine to argue. The consequences weren't worth it.

Caul headed back into the main room and grabbed the water flask and one of the tin cups from the crate by the door. He poured water into the cup on returning to the small room. Folding in a partial crouch, he patted the man's face with the back of his hand.

" Hey, you with me, friend? I need you to wake up. Just for a moment."

The head twitched, and the man emitted a low moan from deep in his throat. Caul lifted the metal cup to the man's lip and tilted. " Come on, friend, drink up." A little water dribbled out to stain the man's dark shirt before the man's throat moved to swallow.

The door did its custom protesting groan on being opened then closed. Caul rose and stepped back to see the tall but stocky Araz heading to the storage room, followed by Mical. Mical was the same height as the tall man, and just as lean, with hair the color of sand cut so close to his scalp it looked shaved. He didn't remove his heavy brown coat, and he and Araz went straight to the wooden crate of newly acquired weapons. The crate squeaked when Araz removed the lid. Mical crouched and sifted through the weapons, counting them at a glance.

" You did good, Caul," Mical called. Caul watched him rise then enter the small room. He didn't even look at Caul as he headed straight for the tall man. He grabbed the man by his dark hair and pulled his head up, to the side, then around. Caul winced feeling a sympathetic twinge in his own neck.

" You deliver the message?"

Caul cleared his throat. " Uh... yes, yes I did."

" And the wrist cloth?"

" Yes."

Mical continued to manipulate the tall man's head, studying him as though he were regarding some other worldly trinket just to idle away the time. Finally, he released the man's head to let it drop back to his chest. " I felt resistance. You may need to give him another dose."

Caul gaped. " B-but... um... Maybe we should let him wake up a little... So he can eat?" Caul huffed out a brief, nervous, pathetic laugh. " He hasn't really eaten anything for three days..."

Mical, still staring at his hostage, grinned. " Good." Then he smacked the tall man upside his skull. " Hunger'll keep him uncoordinated." He turned to Caul, calm and casual, like a man with the entire world in the palm of his hand. " Don't go soft on me." He pointed at the man. " He's a solider, like an enforcer. He's trained to fight. You give even a breadth of leeway, and he'll cut your throat before you can blink. Don't forget that."

Mical headed from the room, giving Caul a gentle pat on the shoulder along the way. " Keep an eye on him Caul, or it's your blood that'll be staining the floor."

Caul couldn't say whether Mical was talking about the man, or if that had been a threat.

TBC...


	4. Fight and Flight

Don't react, that's what the voice had told him. If he reacted, then the drug would be administered in regular doses, and John wouldn't have the mental capacity to distinguish up from down. But he wanted to react, just to make it all stop. Hands patting his face, then slapping him, with idiotic laughter following. It became worse when he so much as moaned or tried to twitch away. A fist to the face would be the result, or to the gut, shoving the air from his lungs. It made him briefly appreciate the cold pit of hunger at the bottom of his stomach. The combination of blows and side effects of this drug would have had him vomiting his stomach inside out. Without food, he could only dry-heave until his stomach muscles and ribs cramped.

The man behind the voice whispering in his ear when John felt the pinch in his neck indicating drug delivery assured John that he was doing him a favor. John supposed it to be true. Reality wavered, and everything around him felt like a desert mirage, where water ripples on the sand with no real water to show for it. Sensation was at its strongest when the blows came, but everything else left him wondering and nervous. When a breeze passed or a hand brushed his arm or shoulder, he wanted to focus on it for a grasp at the tangible. Problem was, it never lasted.

As for his own body, his hands felt somewhat detached, and it took a moment of wriggling his fingers to remind his brain that they still existed. He was most aware of his heart beating heavy and sluggish, running like an old car that had been repaired one too many times, and it scared him. The voice had assured that the drug did nothing more than incapacitate. But one had to consider the consequences of long term use, even thinned down as the voice had said it was.

Adrenaline was the counter. When multiple voices filled the room, murmuring and laughing, the natural chemical would rush into John's blood and incite his heart into a hammering riot. Well, maybe not hammering, but it certainly started pumping harder. Sensation became a little more defined, and he had to fight against the urge to flinch at the touch of breezes from passing bodies. The proximity of these people made him tense with good reason, because the blows came soon after the voices arrived.

He could utilize the adrenaline. He only needed awareness enough to stumble out of whatever rat hole he was in and reach a place of safety where he could wait the drug out, letting it clear from his system.

That was part two of the plan. Part one was the small, sharpened strip of glass bound securely to the bottom of his wrist with pieces of thin, transparent string that were easy to miss against his skin. A little Ronon-taught trick John had taken to practicing whenever he wore his long-sleeved shirt. This was the first time his captors hadn't thought of thoroughly checking his arms. Hell, they'd even removed his black wrist band which had been hiding the glass, and he still felt the glass pressed against his wrist.

Getting it out was made tricky to the point of dangerous with his hands bound. He was forced to work slow, maneuvering his fingers around and up into the sleeve where he pushed the glass upward little by little, loosening it toward the point where it would hopefully fall out into his hands. Sometimes it would make headway, and other times it would slip back into place. The course, narrow ropes binding him chafed and rubbed his skin like sandpaper. At first it was annoying, then it escalated to painful, and he had to press his chin into his chest to keep his jaw clamped, or else give himself away with a hiss of pain.

The glass was just as vicious. His his fingers slipping over the sharpened edges sliced into his skin, and he had to cup his hand to catch the blood. Then the ropes joined in on the bloodletting. Every pat of blood hitting the floor, loud in the silent room, made his heart jolt. The rope and his sleeve soaked in most, but a few drops were slick about finding paths down his fingers to fall off. And every time the myriad of voices returned, his heart would beat harder. More than prayed, he begged that his captors didn't notice the blood on his hands or on the floor.

And they didn't.

Time existed only in the form of the voices arrivals, but the time between visits could have varied. John couldn't keep his thoughts straight enough to determine it, and he didn't care. All that mattered was the glass ripping his arm into shredded meat and getting it to shred the ropes.

Success came without warning. The combination of blood and struggles had the glass slipping from the string. John nearly dropped it in his surge of shock and excitement. Once in his hand, he worked the glass around to start sawing through the ropes. But when the voices came, he clutched the glass in a loose fist. He forced his body to go limp, though his hands shook from the pain of the cuts and tension.

"... I'm supposed to meet her tonight, but if her damn husband shows up again I'm not taking his garbage. If the man wanted to keep her so bad he shouldn't be seeking other beds to sleep in."

The air of a passing body touched the side of John's neck, then cold, rough hands patted him on either side of his cheeks. " You with us? Hey!"

John remained languid as a rag. He even let a little saliva leak from the corner of his mouth in a small stream of drool just for show.

 _Go away go away go away go away go away..._

" Just do him in," said a deeper voice more indifferent than Ronon's.

" Not this far in the game. It'll attract attention." More pats, then came the slap stinging John's cheek and whipping his head to the side. " Hey! Wake up!" The two men chuckled. They were nothing more than noise and pain to John. Not people, but ghosts with no faces, no forms, no names, yet existing against John's will.

Fingers curled into John's hair and forced his head up. " He's not looking too good." John's head was pulled almost bent in half, then twisted left and right. It hurt, but John was good at keeping himself from crying out, which usually involved him biting his own tongue.

" We won't be able to keep him much longer."

" Eh, we can try. Most folk are content just to get a corpse back." The fingers lifted away and John let his head fall back to his chest. He felt a hand pat him on the shoulder, then remain there, fingers squeezing and digging. " He's shaking. We'd better get Caul to give him more stuff."

The hand departed and footsteps tromped out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

John gasped and lifted his head on his unsteady neck. He didn't want any more drug, even in the small doses. Not now, not when he was so close. He brought the glass around, fumbling it in his trembling fingers, fingers oozing more blood the tighter he gripped the glass to maintain his hold of it. Blood patted faster as he picked and sawed, fraying the threads of the rope one by one, then twisting and squirming his wrists to loosen the bindings.

" Come on," he whispered. " _Come on!"_

Voices mumbled without words outside the door. Thumps and footsteps made John's heart jolt and his head spin. He ripped through the ropes using both the glass and his fingers, and twisted his wrist feeling the bindings start to give. Then, so suddenly it made John jump, the wrist that had been concealing the bit of glass popped free. John gasped out in relief and triumph. He didn't waste time savoring the moment, and brought his shaking hand straight to the blindfold, lifting it enough from one eye to assess his surroundings.

Even in the dim light he squinted and blinked until his light-starved left eye adjusted. He was in a small, windowless room, empty except for himself, his jacket and vest piled in the corner. No P-90, 9-mil or even his knife were with them as far as he could tell. The world blurred in and out around him with his attention span doing the same. He rolled his eye to the door where light spilled through the crack at the bottom.

No movement. John worked fast, at least as fast as his sluggish body would let him. He bent with a grimace of pain lancing out from his stiff back and chest, and began sawing through the ropes at his feet, just enough to kick free of them when the time was right.

A shadow flitted across the light. John snapped back straight and yanked the blindfold over his eye. He whipped his arm back around the chair, holding the rope to his wrist to appear as though it were still in place. He sucked in a deep, readying breath, then made himself go limp. The door creaked open. Two sets of footsteps again. John felt the breeze of someone passing, then the puff of hot air against his ear.

" I really am sorry about having to keep doing this to you." Friendly voice, but he wasn't alone. This was a setback, but nothing John couldn't compensate for. When he felt the pinch at his neck, he reacted.

John whipped his hands out from behind him, one ripping off the blindfold and the other grabbing his drugger by the neck. He jerked one foot free of the chair just as the second man charged, and bashed his boot into the man's chest sending him staggering back to slump against the wall. John lurched onto his feet while at the same time bringing the smaller, mouse-haired man around against his chest to use as a shield. John kicked the chair away and moved toward the door.

" I'm really sorry I have to do this," John hissed in the small man's ear, and pressed the glass shard into the man's neck against the pulse point. John had no intentions of killing this man, not after the man had gone through the trouble of ensuring the drug didn't kill him. He just hoped the rest of the man's cronies didn't realize this.

An arm slid around John's throat just before he was able to step out into what looked to be a storage room. John reacted out of both instinct and alarm, snapping his head back to bash it into the face of the second man. There was a grunt, and John glanced over his shoulder to see the blond-haired man stumble back, shake his head with a nose dripping blood, and stumble forward toward John, gritting blood-stained teeth. John elbowed the man, and the man staggered back again. Grabbing the small man by the collar to hold him in place, John turned enough to deck the guy when he made a third attempt to charge. It wasn't a strong blow, but the combination of all three finally sent the man dropping to the floor.

The man rolled onto his stomach with a groan. John's body buzzed with a shock of delight on seeing his 9-mil tucked into the back of the man's pants. He shoved his bit of glass into his BDU pocket and crouched to snatch the weapon. He turned and pressed it to the side of the little man's head.

" Where are we?" he hissed again.

Little man swallowed and stuttered when he spoke. " Uh... um... east end business district..."

" What planet!" John snarled. He neither had the time nor was in the mood to play nice and coaxing.

" Uh, Ioth."

John's heart dropped to his stomach. " What?" And then he instantly recalled. " Crap!"

His surprise was short lived when voices drifted to them. Three men, the lead one tall and sandy haired, walked toward the storage room but stopped at the threshold when they looked up in time to see their buddy being held at gunpoint by their former captive.

The sand-haired man's brow furrowed, and his eyes flashed with dark, cold anger. " Caul you _idiot!_ You didn't give him enough!"

John moved the gun to point it at the tall man. " Hey, don't blame him for being the nice guy. You were the ones not giving me much incentive to stay. Now move back or one of you'll be decorating the walls with your brain matter."

The men began backing away, slowly, and John was struck by a sudden case of deja vu. He'd seen these men before, but his brain wasn't playing nice enough to let him figure out where. As the men moved, so did John, inching slower than snails until he couldn't take it anymore, and he rolled his eyes.

" Move faster!"

The men took wider steps back, and John rushed through the door, turning to keep the men in front of him within sight of his gun.

" Don't even think about following me," John growled, " because if I see any of you assholes again, I will definitely be decorating something with your brains." He shoved the short man into the other three, turned, and bolted from the door. Something inside him yelled at the folly of losing his hostage, but John wasn't attached enough to reality to give it any consideration. All he cared about was finding a place to hide and letting the drug burn itself out of him.

Rushing outside onto the stair landing, the world tilted around him. He had to lean against the rail and take each step cautiously as he descended. He was almost to the bottom when something heavy collided into his back. Both he and the weight pitched forward to go tumbling the rest of the way down the stairs to land in a heap with the weight on top of John. The world spun, and his stomach flipped, but with nothing to spew up it was a futile reaction. The weight on him shifted and planted a hand on his chest for support as the body began to rise. A sharp, burning spike of pain sent more adrenaline ripping through John. He cried out, then grabbed the hand to yank it away. The body fell to the side with a grunt, and John quickly lashed out with his fist, striking the flesh and bone of a face.

With the weight off him, John was able to flip onto his chest and push himself up with his hands. He saw his gun only five feet away, and started to scramble to it. Something latched onto his leg and jerked him back. John shot a frantic glance over his shoulder to see the sandy haired guy with both hands around his ankle. John gritted his teeth and pooled every last scrap of energy he had into twisting his body around from his chest to his back and simultaneously snapping his free leg right into the man's jaw with a crack. The man fell to the side, snarling in pain, and his hands released John to cup his bleeding face. John rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed himself to his feet while scrambling toward the gun. Another weight plowed into his back, and John screamed when he landed directly on his burning chest. Stars pulsed in his eyes in time to the thrumming of his racing heart. Hands grabbed his hair to pull his head back, and thick fingers wrapped around his exposed throat.

The gun was right next to John's hand. As the fingers tightened, John grabbed it, brought it up and around behind him, and fired. His attacker screamed and the weight was off him. John chanced a second-long glance over his shoulder to see the crop-haired guy clutching his bleeding arm. John coughed out a laugh, then scrabbled to his feet, taking off at a staggering, unsteady run, veering like a drunk.

Shouts gave him more of a wake up call and another surge of adrenaline. He pushed his uncooperative legs to pump and carry him at a dash rather than a haphazard jog. He turned sharply down alleys, making sudden changes in direction when he had the space to do so. The world fuzzed and tilted all around him, and the air burned in and out of his lungs. No matter his fear, his body just didn't have enough chemical to keep him going. Amidst the shouts, he caught another sound, a rushing gurgling sound, like water. A strange, hazy curiosity demanded to know what it was, but it was a fleeting question. John was busy looking over his shoulder at his pursuers. On seeing them emerge from another alley, John's breath caught and he stumbled.

He reached out with his hand to stop himself, and encountered nothing. Fortunately his other hand was far enough back to collide with the edge of the drop off he was now crouched before. Seven feet below him was a river boxed in by bricks rubbed smooth from erosion. The water ran fast, really fast by the way the debris flew by. John pushed himself to his unsteady legs, looking from the water to the men running toward him and getting closer. Glancing around, John saw the area to be a dead end, with buildings stopping right at the drop off.

John didn't have much choice in the matter. It was time for a swim he knew he would later regret. Cesspools looked cleaner than this river.

John tucked his 9-mil into the back waist band of his pants, took a deep breath, then stepped out into nothing. He felt the heart-stopping thrill of falling, followed by the painful lurch of a sudden halt that nearly ripped his arm from the socket. John struggled and twisted against the iron tight grip around his arm. Looking up, he couldn't see who had him in the darkness, but they were attempting to haul him out.

" No freakin' way!" John snarled. He grabbed the man's arm, pulling himself up enough to bite the man's hand. The man cried out, tried to maintain his hold, but finally yanked his hand away when John bit harder. John plummeted then smacked into the river. The cold knocked the breath from him, and his spinning mind forgot which way was up. He floundered beneath the currents as they pulled him along. His body rammed into something hard as concrete – the wall. He reached out for it, feeling along it in all directions until his right hand encountered the sharp cold of open air. He pressed his feet against the wall and pushed himself up, going and going for what felt like an eternity until his head broke the surface.

John gasped in a ragged lungful of air against the sharp pain in his chest. Then, rather than struggling against the river, he let it carry him. As long as the water didn't lead to some Aqueduct or sewage, he would be all right, and hopefully come to some shallower part. He did fight to keep near the wall, just in case some exposed piping or some kind of handhold came along he could snag. The river was happy to oblige in keeping him to the wall by driving him into it, pummeling his already bruised body to add a few more bruises to the collection. Other times, the water attempted to pull him back under, and a few gallons managed to force its way down John's throat.

Beckett was going to kill him when he got home... if he got home.

 _Think positively, Johnny-boy, come on now..._ No easy task while being pummeled, choked, and constantly shocked by cold.

But all things eventually come to an end, good or bad. The river didn't slow, but the surrounding walls became shorter. The cold kept John lucid enough to notice this, and he rolled from his back to his stomach in order to reach out and make a grab for the wall-edge. His stinging hands were too stiff to cling. When the water next shoved him against the wall, John threw his arms out over the edge and his weight with it, forcing energy into himself and hauling himself up and out of the water, clawing at the cracked and paved road, then rolling the rest of his body from the cold river onto his back to stare up at the ink-black sky.

It only now registered to him that it was nighttime. John remained on his back, panting, gasping, choking, and coughing. His stomach did another flip, and bile came shooting up burning into his throat. He rolled painfully back to his stomach and vomited streams of brown water onto the ground. When he finished, dry heaving for all he was worth, he returned to his position on his back. Far less painful than lying on his chest.

John stared up at the sky. He saw no stars, and concluded the sky to be overcast. He felt rather at peace just staring, surrounded by the silence, with the cold momentarily forgotten. He was too happy to be out and away to care that he was shivering violently. He was also too tried, tired enough to sleep where he lay. He felt his eyes began to slip close, knowing he couldn't let them, but having nothing left to fight with to keep them open.

Until he heard the voices. John snapped his head to the side, but saw only a small group of three men teetering like drunks, and laughing raucously in the same manner. Suddenly, a molecule of energy reserve pushed its way into John's body. He rolled again through aches, pains, and the arctic cold onto his hands and knees, and began crawling toward a building not situated on the very edge of the river. On the side of the building were stairs leading up to a rickety landing. John pulled himself toward these stairs, then behind them. He dropped back against the wall, and pulled his knees up to tighten into a shivering huddle. Through the gap in the steps he saw the three men encounter four men. Laughter turned to talking, talking to shouts, and the men began pushing each other. The shouts grew until the night echoed with the slap of fist striking flesh. Immediately after echoed gunfire that shattered the silence like a rock through fine china.

John forced his stiff arm behind him to pull out his 9mil and bring it around. He pressed the gun against his chest, and his legs against his arms in an attempt to preserve any modicum of warmth that could be scrounged from his possibly hypothermic body.

Another shot was fired, and someone screamed in agony.

SGA

Caul stood back as the rest spread along the edge of the Ni'ok River watching the tall man get swept away by the unrelenting currents. They didn't remain at the river's edge long, and Mical was the first to break away, followed by Felz and the bloodied Gyr.

Caul tensed. Mical's dark eyes were unreadable. But Caul caught the twitch in the muscle of Mical's cheek. That small, nearly indiscreet movement was all Caul needed. Mical was mad, but it was a controlled anger, walled back enough to allow Mical to do what he needed to and not give in to panic or rage. Caul was safe for now. Although once they obtained their next batch of weapons from the 'Lanteans, that safety was out the window. Mical never gave into emotion until after all business was settled.

" A set back," he said without looking at Caul, and brushed passed the smaller man. Caul turned and reluctantly followed. Mical wiped more dried blood from his face then sniffed. " Tomorrow, we take whatever the 'Lanteans bring. Caul, you give them some tripe about more demands. That should buy us time. Tonight, we need to get Araz to a healer, then move the weapons."

Felz and Gyr nodded like the obedient lackeys they were. Caul sighed and nodded as well. The pattern was repeating. It was time to flee again. Although, in a twist, this was the first time they'd ever had to run because a captive escaped. Nervous as Caul was, he harbored a small inkling of satisfaction in that, and honestly hoped the man survived the city and made it home.

It wasn't a strong hope, not in this city.

SGA

Another third day, another trade. Lorne felt like he'd been dumped into a time warp. The three days had dragged by in a haze of planning and preparing, but it felt to Lorne as though all this had only just taken place yesterday.

They were better prepared this time around, because chances were – this was their last chance. If the kidnappers hadn't discovered being double crossed with the P-90s, they were going to realize real quick when they tried out their new acquirement of flash-bangs. It was all the Atlanteans had by way of harmless explosives. Giving the trade a little extra kick, however, was the tracking device stuck to one of the grenades, and another being held by Ronon to be transplanted onto one of the kidnappers. They were long-range devices, able to be picked up even outside the atmosphere of the planet by a properly modified jumper. If Dr. Weir couldn't get the passes needed to enter the city and search, then it was on to plan B and plowing their way in by cloaked jumper, hopefully avoiding knocking anyone down in the process.

The wait wasn't as long as before. The small man and the two cronies lugging the wooden crate arrived three minutes after the appointed time.

" Good, you're here," the little man said. Lorne tensed, as did everyone else around them. But rather than launching into a tirade about the defunct weapons, the two cronies popped the lid off their crate and proceeded to load the flash bangs from the Atlantean crate.

" Where's our guy?" Lorne asked. " Or is this another change in plans?"

The little man cleared his throat. " One more delivery. The smaller, hand held projectiles. Then you get your guy back."

Lorne narrowed his eyes, looking all three men over at a glance. " Gee, funny how I don't believe you." Something was wrong, something concerning what he was seeing that his conscious mind wasn't picking up but his subconscious was sniffing out like a blood-hound. There'd been a change since they last met. Not so much in the mousy man – he was still nervous as hell. It was the other two. Where they'd come across as being stoic as Ronon, they now moved more stiffly, more quickly, even dropping a few of the harmless grenades as they made the transfer.

" You don't have any other choice," the mouse-man said. " You want your soldier back, then bring us what we ask."

It was time to test Lorne's growing suspicion. " We need proof that he's all right. Last time you brought us something. How about now?"

That got 'em. The two lackeys' eyes flickered toward the Atlanteans, and mouse-man didn't speak for all of two seconds, swallowing twice in that small amount of time.

" He's fine," he said. " You're just going to have to take our word on it."

Ronon lunged forward, grabbing mouse-man by the throat and whipping him around to pin him to the wall. The two lackeys stood to flee until Lorne, Lt. Stewart, and Teyla brought their weapons up.

" Bad idea, fellas," Lorne said. He let Teyla and Stewart handle being the watch dogs, and moved over to stand beside Ronon. He placed his hand on the big guy's arm. " Easy Ronon. Let the man breathe. We still need some answers."

Ronon's fingers loosened their death grip, and the mouse-man gasped in a hoarse breath of air.

" Okay then," Lorne said with a tight smile. " I said it before and I'll say it again. Funny how I don't believe you, because I don't. You see, I got this funny little sixth sense that helps me know when people are lying, but Ronon's is a hell of a lot better than mine. You know how there's some animals that are said to smell fear? Well Ronon can scent out lying, and he only needs one hand to break your neck. He's pretty quick about it too, killing you before I'd have a chance to stop him. So you'd better play it straight with us... What's your name?"

The mouse-man's pale face started slicking over with sweat. " C-Caul. P-please, don't kill me. I'll tell you what you want to know. B-but if I do, you have to swear you'll take me with you back to your world... Or-or any world, it doesn't matter..."

" Caul!" the blond growled, but shut up when Teyla moved her gun directly on him.

" Silence!" she snapped.

Caul audibly gulped. " I don't want to do this anymore," he said, though Lorne got the feeling it wasn't really an explanation, but more like a confession, and he found himself believing the little man and his look of finality beneath the fear. Caul's eyes moved from the blond to Lorne. " We don't have your man anymore. He managed to escape. If he's still alive – which he might be since he got away last night – then he's somewhere in the city. B-but that's all I can tell you, I'm sorry."

Alarm tightened in Lorne's chest. He pointed to the closed door of the inspection room. " So he's out there somewhere? Was he hurt when he escaped?"

Caul's faced softened apologetically. " He was... roughed up some the last couple of days. We gave him water, b-but not food. And he fell into the Ni'ok river, which isn't a sanitary water source even when the filters are working. And – and if he did manage to get out, which isn't impossible further down river, he would most likely end up in the outskirts. People, they're rougher there, harder. Most of the enforcers choose to avoid that territory. I – I know you don't want to hear this, but your friend's chances of survival aren't going to be good. Not in this city."

Lorne curled his fingers into a clenched fist until his nails bit into his palm. He turned away trying to think, but couldn't push his mind past the red haze of frustration that kept building and building. So close and then a thousand miles too far. Finally, he turned again, and gave a vicious kick to the now empty crate. " Son of a bitch!"

Caul flinched, the two lackeys exchanged nervous looks, but Teyla, Ronon, and Stewart didn't even blink.

" I can help you find him," Caul said.

" Caul!" the blond man snapped. " You spineless little dirt crawler! Mical's going to kill you!"

" Please," Caul said. " I'm willing to help if you'd let me."

Lorne turned back to Caul, looking from him to the lackeys. " Will these guys be a problem?" he asked.

" N-no. Once a hostage is lost, however he's lost, then we're through. Mical and the rest will just move on."

Lorne stepped up to the two, giving them a warning look – the coldest, harshest look he could manage, though he knew Ronon would have done better. " Get out of here. If I see either of you two again, I'll kill you. If I discover your boss is following us when we return, I'll kill him _and_ you. You can say as much to him. Now take your crap and get out."

The two men didn't mess around. They grabbed the now full crate and headed out, shooting Caul a parting, dangerous look.

Caul gaped. " But... They took your weapons..."

Lorne shrugged. " Harmless. Just a bunch of exaggerated noise-makers. Same with the guns we brought last time." Lorne returned his full attention to Caul. Ronon had released the little man's neck, but remained invading his personal space.

" You can really help us find Sheppard?"

Caul nodded. " Is that his name? Yeah, I can try. But I make no promises whether or not he's alive or dead. You'll need passes, which you might be able to get under retrieval jurisdiction. You get a longer allotted time with that. More if you were hunting a fugitive. It's not easy, though. Officials will want to speak with your leader or nearest to before issuing one."

Lorne jerked his head in a rigid nod. " Right, that'll be Dr. Weir then. Let's get you a pass out of here. I'd prefer being back here before your world's sunset." They left the empty crate having made their 'trade', and headed out with their new acquisition.

TBC...


	5. Desperate Measures

" Hey! Hey you!"

A sharp prod to the shin brought John's head up, along with the hand holding his 9-mil. He pointed the gun at his supposed attacker in a wavering aim that would go wild if he fired.

The middle aged woman stiffened and back peddled, raising both hands. " Easy young man," she admonished. Even with a gun pointed at her face, the iron resolve in her milky gray eyes didn't waver. " No confrontations." She wrapped her layers of brown jacket and shawls tighter around her, then began to slowly shuffle away. " Just want you gone. I won't have loitering. So move along!"

She ambled around the stairs and thumped up each creaking step. John lowered his gun and watched her ascend until she vanished through the door of the house. The slamming door made him flinch, and he blinked away the film over his eyes.

It was early morning with an overcast sky like a solid silver cloth. John's breath puffed from his mouth, and cold clung to him like a second skin. He was forced to move slow against stiffened muscles that hurt more than ached, and he clenched his jaw to keep from coughing out a groan. He moved his arms first, lifting them at the shoulders, then forced his legs to straightened. Next he arched his back until it popped.

Bracing his back against the wall, John used it to support himself as he inched upward to his feet. Once standing, he remained back against the wall as the world tilted and spun around him. He took several deep breaths of sharp, cold air until the world finally righted itself in his eyes. When his legs felt steady enough, he pushed away from the wall to go staggering out from under the stairs and around the building.

John stopped and stared incomprehensibly at the unoccupied street walled in by rickety two story structures of warping wood and cracked paint. The cobblestones were half-hidden by mud except for gray patches standing out like bleached bones. The only life that John saw was whatever happened to flit by the open second story windows. He saw a pale face – a young girl, maybe even a little boy – peer out for no more than a heartbeat then vanish. Farther down the street where it divided going left and right was what looked to be a mound of coats hurrying by.

John forced his stiff body to move down the street. He folded his arms tight in front of his chest and hunched against the nipping cold carried on gusting breezes. Recollection was moving as slowly as his blood. He remembered... running, then swimming. Pain, cold, panic, fear, desperation.

Ioth. He was on Ioth. Recalling _that_ made his eyes round over. No way could this be Ioth. He should have been crushed in a mass of moving bodies by now, trampled under foot like so much debris. The buildings were the same, so where was the rest?

John shivered from more than the cold. The sense of wrongness he got from this planet became like a fist to his gut. He didn't think it possible for a place so messed up to become even more so, and yet here he was, lost in his own personal Twilight Zone. John moved on automatic through the streets with the single-minded intent of finding someone who could direct him to the Stargate... or the Ioth equivalent of a hospital.

When John came to the end of this street, he turned right onto the next. Laughter and voices resounded toward him from an indeterminable direction. He stopped, trying to locate the source of the sound, when something sharp and hard struck him in the shoulder blade. He cringed then turned, just in time to duck another projectile that whizzed a centimeter from his head. The second projectile, however, he was distracted from, and it pegged him in the shoulder.

A gaggle of ragged, coat layered kids, from small to teenagers, were snatching up rocks and other litter, chucking them at John. Something glanced off of John's other shoulder, and the kids whooped in triumph.

" Get gone off-worlder!" a boy sneered, and hurled another rock. This one got him in the arm, and it hurt, a lot. Looking down, John saw a tear in the fabric of his shirt and blood soaking around the edges. He tightened his grip on his 9-mil.

He wouldn't turn a weapon on a bunch of kids. They could have been holding automatic rifles in itchy trigger fingers and he still wouldn't have fired. He turned his back to them instead, and quickened his steps to get away. Something else sharp, and much larger, got him in the back, and pain ripped through him radiating out from a middle rib. He turned right again at the next juncture and the pelting stopped, though the laughter followed him ricocheting sharp off the walls. He just kept going in no particular direction until his body moved without his mind needing to be aware of it.

It was only when he heard the deeper, louder voices of men, and saw four of them turning a corner heading in his direction, that John snapped back into himself and his surroundings. Pain and aches consumed him, making his stomach roll and his heart thud with increasing unease. He glanced around for another direction to go. His only option was a dead-end, shadow veiled alley on his left. He hurried into it and crouched on the other side of a pile of wooden boxes. He peered around and watched poised in tense readiness as the men walked by. He didn't emerge until the sound of the men's voices vanished from hearing. Even then, it took a moment before John was able to urge his body to rise and move on.

 _Get to the gate, just get to the gate._ He pressed one hand against the wall to steady himself, and took another moment to catch his breath and wait for the world to stop rocking. When he rediscovered control over his own body, he left the alley and went back into automatic, his body moving without him, and his mind wandering in a whole other direction.

SGA

Elizabeth stepped out of the event horizon with her hands in her jacket pockets and her shoulders hunched against the brush of cold air carried by the breezes. Her breath clouded from her mouth upward toward a slate gray sky. Lorne stepped out behind her, then Ronon, Teyla, and three more marines. They weren't taking chances on this world, even within the confines of the little 'gate-port' (as Rodney had come to call it). Even with Caul's assurances that the Ioth government had played no part in the kidnapping of Sheppard, Elizabeth carried absolutely no trust for this world. And she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the Ioth government demanded a little recompense for whatever aid they provided in finding Col. Sheppard.

The guard standing by the DHD approached them with wary eyes flitting from armed 'Lantean to armed 'Lantean. Even Elizabeth wasn't without a little defensive technical support in the form of a zat Caldwell had given her since she flat out refused a gun. It was hidden, folded, in her jacket pocket, the knuckles of her right hand brushing against it and finding an extra boost of confidence in its presence.

" State your business in Ioth," the guard demanded.

Elizabeth turned to face him. " We'd like to speak to an official from your government concerning an urgent matter."

" And this matter would be?"

" For their ears only. I have someone particular in mind I would like to speak with."

The guard jerked his head in a curt nod, then led Elizabeth and company around the 'gate to the far side of the courtyard. They were taken into a large room with long tables dominating the center. The change from frigid to stifling actually took Elizabeth's breath away. She gave the name of the one she wanted to see to the guard, then made her way to the center most table and sat. Her armed entourage spread out, taking point by the windows and hovering near the door.

Time passed in utter silence. Elizabeth's hands were folded tightly on the table top, and her gaze was fixed to the arctic white window to her right. John was out there, in this weather, this cold, unless he'd managed to find shelter. Caul had said they'd taken his jacket, vest and weapons, although he'd managed to get his smaller 'projectile' back, so it wasn't as though he was completely helpless, just freezing to death after having taken a dip in a polluted river.

Normally Elizabeth would try to refrain from thinking the negative, but she was bitter. Even Caul's seemingly new found good intention was not enough to stifle her desire to wring the little man's neck. The Pegasus Galaxy was changing her, jading her toward open minded diplomacy, and scratching her up with a couple of mean streaks. ' Toughening her up,' that's what her father would have said. But it wasn't exactly that, at least to her way of thinking. She'd developed defensive shells long ago, facing off with representatives and officials from countries ready to drop bombs at the inappropriate drop of a pin. She'd 'toughened up' long before the Pegasus Galaxy. Everything else was just leaps and bounds to add layers to what she'd already earned.

What the Pegasus Galaxy was doing to her went heart deep. She knew how to handle herself, it was everyone else she was out to protect. Which meant John was rubbing off on her.

 _But, damn it, someone has to protect him_. It used to hurt when something happened to her people. Now it both hurt and infuriated her. Saving them was becoming never enough. There were times, even after all was said and done, as she stood by the side of an infirmary bed watching the aftermath of suffering, that she found herself longing for retribution. It was the same sentiment no matter who was suffering. John, however, always topped the list since it was always something with him. They joked about the trouble he got himself into, which made it sound as though it were his fault. But then that was why it was a joke, because they all knew that it wasn't. They joked because if felt good to laugh again, to tease, to make John scowl and roll his eyes – the signs of the everyday going back to being the everyday. Normal, light hearted pleasantries to get themselves to wind down and pick up where they left off.

Until it all happened again.

Elizabeth joked with the rest, while deep inside lurked a beast that ranted, raved, and thrashed in want of blood for blood. That was what the Pegasus Galaxy was doing to her.

 _Hurt my people and I will kill you. Hurt John and I will kill you._ It would never grow to become something she would act upon – she wouldn't let it – but she had become quite lenient towards Ronon's loss of temper toward John's abusers. 'Accidental discharge' of weapons as well.

Watching pain hurt just as much as feeling it.

Deep thought pushed time from a crawl to a run, and she jumped when the door creaked open. Weir smiled in partial relief at the familiar figure walking through the door, dressed in his smart but somewhat aged brown suit.

Seri beamed back, and reached out with both hands to take Elizabeth's one hand and clasp it in his own for a single shake.

" Seri, you have no idea how glad I am to see you," she said. They both took a seat with Seri across from her. An Ioth soldier dressed in dark blue fatigues remained standing by the door, stiff as a rod and unmoving as a statue.

" Dr. Weir, it is good to see you again as well," Seri said. " I was quite shocked when I was called in to speak with the representatives of the 'Lanteans. What brings you back to our world? Another trade attempt?" he chuckled softly, but stopped when Elizabeth's expression didn't reflect his humor.

Elizabeth let out a slow, steadying breath. " There's been an incident, and we need help. Several days ago, Colonel Sheppard was taken. The people who took him did so in order to use him as a bartering tool to acquire weapons from us. We attempted to trade weapons – _faulty_ weapons – in order to get him back, but his kidnappers demanded more. When we tried to meet the demands, we made a startling discovery. One of the kidnappers confessed that they no longer had Colonel Sheppard, that he escaped. These people were from Ioth, which means that Col. Sheppard is lost somewhere on your world, and we need entrance and the aid of your government to find him."

Seri's face went a shade toward white, and his eyelids fluttered rapidly. Then his shoulders sagged. " Oh dear." He lifted his hand to begin rubbing his face and sighed. " Ohhh dear."

Elizabeth's heart stuttered and she stiffened. " What?"

Seri dropped his hand with another sigh. " I'm ashamed to say it's not an uncommon occurrence for citizens from our world to commit such acts. Kidnappings, murders, thievery, we've heard of it all. We've even indited employees of our own governmental house for _selling_ information concerning representatives and diplomats from other worlds. But for the most part, the things being sought had always centered around... Treasures, riches, more advanced forms of science. Weapons..." Seri shrugged. " Most worlds have always sported weapons similar to our own. It did not cross my mind that word of the power of your projectile weaponry would get out. And even if it did, one would think your people too much of an intimidation to go up against."

Seri's eyes lowered to his hands lying flat on the dark, wood table top. His face scrunched as though he were having stomach troubles, but when he finally pulled his gaze back to Elizabeth, she realized that it was a look of sheepish apology. " I will be honest with you, Dr. Weir. When you left, the Magistrates were furious. In fact, they had been plotting an edict in which no one from Ioth was permitted to do any trading with any 'Lantean. Except such an edict would have been difficult to enforce, so they dropped it. I do not know if they would offer their aid in searching for Colonel Sheppard." Seri grimaced. " I do not even know if they will permit you beyond the gate. I will contact them here through the communications line, if you would be willing to wait. But I make no promises."

Elizabeth's throat clenched. " We'll never know if we don't try."

Seri nodded solemnly. " True." He then stood, and exited the room with the soldier following casually behind.

" Sure we can trust him?" Ronon asked seconds after the door was shut.

Lorne was the one who replied. " Not much choice in the matter. Better Seri than some stick up his ass office lackey who doesn't give a damn."

" Seri has an honest heart," Teyla said. " We can trust him."

Ronon grunted doubtfully. " I don't doubt that," was his reply. " But should the situation come down to where he's forced to choose sides, he'll have to go with his government or suffer for it. I've seen it before."

If Elizabeth didn't know any better, she would have sworn Ronon was expressing a little concern for Seri. Then again, maybe he was.

Seri was gone for thirty-five minutes. During that time, a young woman in a beige skirt and white blouse brought in a pitcher of water and cups. It was getting hard to breathe in the large room, and Elizabeth had had to take her jacket off. One would think this world was verging on summer rather than winter in that room.

When Seri returned, his expression was the same as when he had left – apologetic and solemn. Elizabeth's heart sank like a rock in a river.

" Oh no..."

Seri sat across from her and folded his hands atop the table. " They said they would search for your Colonel Sheppard themselves, but that you were not to enter the city under any circumstances. Should he be found – alive – then they will send him home. If ... dead, then they will contact you."

Elizabeth bolted up from her seat. " That's not good enough! We need to be able to search for him ourselves. We have a man, one of the kidnappers, who is willing to help us. No offense to your government but they will need our help..."

Seri raised both his hands. " Please, Dr. Weir. I've made entreaties on your behalf but they wouldn't listen. All I can assure you with is that I will head the search myself, make sure that the enforcers stay on top of it."

Elizabeth sank slowly, numbly, back into her chair. It wasn't good enough. Atlantis had to be the one searching. _She_ had to be the one searching. And no way was she going to let this turn into one of those situations where she would have to take what she could get.

No way in hell.

Seri turned his head enough for a glance over his shoulder toward the guard hovering by the door. When he looked back to Elizabeth, he leaned forward and lowered his head.

" I would like to point out that it is only ' _Lanteans_ banned from our world..."

Elizabeth knew right off where Seri was going.

Seri gestured vaguely. " If you know of others – allies, those friendly with you and your Colonel Sheppard, especially those who owe you a favor – it might prove prudent to seek them out and call that favor in."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. " Actually, we've considered that. We'd just hoped it wouldn't have to come to that."

" It is all I can think of to suggest. I will even help them if you send them my way. I like your Colonel Sheppard – a friendly man. It would pain me if something ill happened to him."

Elizabeth reached out to take Seri's hands in both of hers. " Thank you, Seri. Thank you so much."

Seri scrunched his brow. " Thank me when you find your Colonel Sheppard.

On stepping into Atlantis, the first person Elizabeth saw hurrying toward her was McKay, followed by Col. Caldwell going at a more dignified walk.

" What happened? Are we going in? Will they let us in?" McKay said.

Elizabeth stopped and let out a sharp exhale. " Yes and no. I'll explain later. Right now we need to contact the Genii."

McKay blanched. " G-Genii? Why?"

Teyla turned her disbelieving gaze on Elizabeth. " Dr. Weir, I know their change of leadership has also changed their standing with us, but Colonel Sheppard still holds no trust for them. Are you sure it would be wise to ask for their help?"

Elizabeth's agitated nerves forced her to start moving, heading to the control room. " I'm not going to ask for their help. I'm going to ask for a few of their uniforms." Once in the control room, Elizabeth turned with folded arms to face her bewildered people. " Ronon, Teyla, Major Lorne and Dr. McKay, we're going to need to take your measurements."

TBC...


	6. Maj

John stood hidden in the shadow of a wall in an alley trying to sum up the spine to go up to one ragged, drunk, unsteady old man and ask him directions to the stargate. A freakin' old man who wouldn't have the needed coordination to deck John and add another bruise to the collection. And yet John couldn't move, and kept trying to convince himself that it was because he was freezing his butt off and every muscle throbbed with every movement.

Two and a half days, that's how long he'd been wandering around, asking directions and getting his ass kicked for it. The first guy he asked had spit on him and smashed his fist into the side of John's head. The second guy skipped the spitting and got John in the jaw, though John got a good retaliation kick right in the guy's groin. The third guy he asked hadn't done anything. Actually, he had run after John got a blow to the center of his back that had knocked him flat on his chest. He never saw his attacker's face, even when the guy or whoever had given him a vicious kick to the ribs.

So John had every reason to be wary. Except it said something when his wariness had him hesitant about confronting a drunk old man. It said he'd overstayed his welcome on this crap heap of a planet.

Yet the bruises (and possibly cracked bones) would be worth it if he could finally dredge some directions out of someone. That was his motivation. And now that his clothes were dirty and ragged enough to conceal the fact that he was an off-worlder, this next attempt would probably – hopefully – go off less violently.

John still didn't move. He watched the drunk stumble without going anywhere, interchanging mutterings with what had to be Iothian curses. If John was wrong in his thinking, and the skinny old man decided to get violent, that skinny old man could very well beat John down. John's second beating had been the product of someone thinking him a drunk thanks to his legs not keeping to a straight line. It was also the second reason he didn't want to move. It had taken him twenty minutes just to get back to his feet this morning. There were plenty of places that offered shelter – abandoned buildings, open crawl spaces beneath buildings – but if there was a difference in temperature between being outside on the muddy streets and being inside a dilapidated heap, he couldn't tell.

John was sick of this crap. Motivation number two, or more motivation number one really. With a sigh and grudging acquiesce, he pushed away from his shaded concealment to drag his sorry carcass across the street toward the old man. John shoved his hands into the pockets of his BDUs, going for a casual, as well as somewhat timid appearance, to basically come off as being non-threatening as possible.

" Hey there," John called out, his voice hoarse and cracked as though he'd been screaming for hours. Which he hadn't. Even when he was still loopy from the drug, he recalled enough to know he hadn't been screaming.

The drunk man stopped his direction-less ambling and turned his blood-shot eyes on John. The old man's squint-eyed suspicion was almost laughable. John kept his jaw clamped shut but ended up snorting. Fighting the laughter was proving a lot harder than it should have been. John wasn't surprised. He knew he was delirious.

The old man gestured with a gloved hand holding the clay bottle that sloshed. " Wha' you want, boy? I got nothin'."

John shrugged. " I don't want anything. Except to know how to get to the 'gate... I mean Great Ring from here. I... uh... need to make a little trip but kind of got turned around."

The old man slouched and huffed out a breath. " How should I know? Never used the cursed thing. Never needed to. I'm not an idiot. It brings the bad, that thing." The man's body lurched in a belch. " Brings the monsters. Everyone knows that. But do they listen? No! They just keep usin' and usin' and usin' it. It'll bring the monsters back!"

" Somehow I doubt that."

John's words seemed to snap the old man back to realizing that there was another person present. He eyed John over critically. " What do you know? You even from around here? You dress strange. Go, get lost you skinny brat! I don't know where the ring is and I wouldn't tell you even if I did. So go away! Go, now! Get!"

John removed his hands from his pockets to hold them up in placation as he backed away. The old man continued to shriek at John, even when he turned to go. John hadn't gotten that far when something hard struck his shouldered and the sound of shattering echoed sharp. John's hand shot to his shoulder, and he glanced over it to see the remains of the clay bottle on the ground. When he pulled his hand away too look at it, his fingers were smeared with blood.

" Great," he muttered. The old man kept shrieking. John turned, raised his hand, and gave the old man the one fingered salute. " Thanks for nothing you senile son of a bitch!"

The old man just shrieked louder while flailing his arms like someone trying to chase off a flock of annoying pigeons. John shook his head, turned, and left the old man to his drunken insanity.

John wandered the rest of the day and made it a point to avoid people on the streets. He decided to risk testing a theory, and entered the first building that had the appearance of a shop, with a display window full of what to appeared to be electric-powered devices, such as lamps, and another one of those old-fashioned type writers. John stepped into the plain looking store with the sales counter on the left and shelves of more devices on the right. The store-keep was a somewhat plump, blading man that gave John a brief, indifferent glance. The lack of immediate hostility bolstered John enough ask his question.

Still no violence, and still no luck. The man was making it a point to ignore John. Rising frustration made John want to pull out his 9-mil, or to a lesser extent start cussing, ranting, and making threats until the man talked. Instead, John did one better – he went for being annoyingly persistent, which normally worked on McKay.

" Come on, pal. I can pretty much stay here all day, stinking up the place and scaring away your customers. All you have to do is just tell me how to get to the damn ring. Seriously, why the hell is that so freakin' hard?"

The man's response was to crouch behind the counter to reemerge laying a rifle on the counter-top. John took an immediate step back.

" You showing me an item or trying to tell me something?"

The man's eyes flicked to John, then back to the counter he was wiping down.

John set his mouth in a straight line and nodded. " Right, hint taken, I'm gone." He backed out of the shop rather than risk the chance of getting a bullet to the shoulder instead of another bottle. He tried two more shabby little shops after that, one for clothing and another for what passed as food, and pretty much got the same response. He could positively say he was getting no where fast, and feeling increasingly like hell while doing it. High tolerance for pain and otherwise crappy conditions could only take a man so far, and the drug – though out of his system – had sped up his body's loss of steam. His head throbbed as though his skull were trying to crack open, and his stomach felt more like a gaping bottomless pit. Then there was the lead-weight feeling in his limbs making his walking progress slow and uncoordinated. Water from public drinking fountains that were more like spigots for hoses, located right next to the doors leading into gas-station style public restrooms, satisfied his thirst. But he needed food, warmth, a freakin' doctor, and for the locals to stop adding to his need for medical attention.

The day went fast, and the sky deepened into darker grays until it reached pitch black. Electric lamps buzzed and flickered on but were muted by the growing mist veiling the streets. John kept wandering until he came upon a hole in a wall leading into a small storage room, and crawled inside. He hunkered down between some crates, and pulled a tangled, stinking heap of a fishnet over his back to at least create the illusion that he was warm. Sort of like positive thinking – or absolute delusion – in that if he thought about it long enough, he might actually believe it. And he needed to trick himself if he was going to get any sleep.

John set his head against a crate, and gave his mind free rein to wandered. And it wandered to Atlantis, what was going on there, what might be going on, then how the hell he ended up in this mess in the first place. This world seemed quite set on keeping him around, just so it could kill him off. It wouldn't if he could help it, and he was going to help it even if he had to stick a gun to someone's head and demand they escort him to the 'gate, which would probably end in him being the one to get shot by the enforcers.

John attempted to focus on some sort of game plan tomorrow. Instead, his mind went straight to thoughts of his mother. He had hoped the situation to never reach the point of having it reduce him to a frighten little child longing for mommy. Making it even more pathetic was the fact that she was dead, so even if some fairy-godmother or genie popped in to grant John this childish need, it still wouldn't happen. She had died when John was thirteen – unlucky age indeed. Thinking back on it, John never recalled crying over the loss. It had been as though he'd been unable to; too numb, too hollow, too confused and empty to even think straight, actually. Even when the lack of tears drove a spike of guilt into his gut, he still hadn't cried. Shed a tear, maybe that much, but no all out, pain filled, wracking sobs.

John realized in mild, weary surprise that he wasn't longing for mom, he was simply reminiscing. He always had a feeling that his father had had something to do with John taking his mom's death 'like a man'. Those exact words had never once spilled from his father's mouth, but they'd registered just fine in the old man's attitude. John's father hadn't been a cruel man, just... cold, intimidating. Not so much before mom's death – he'd been more a regular dad then, if a little rough during playtime – but afterward, John had become nervous around him, hardly talked to him. The man supported John, fed him and clothed him, but was more of a silent entity hovering around home, speaking only when John asked a question, which was usually a request to go somewhere or to do something. John had his friends to talk to, an aunt and an uncle he liked to visit who gave John weeks and even months of illusionary bliss that he was a part of one big happy family. Then dad would come home from overseas or where ever, and the illusion would shatter like glass. It had hurt, physically hurt, when that happened.

John didn't hate his dad, or blame him. What the senior Sheppard had done – exist but never really live – that had hurt John. Thinking back on it, John still felt the pang of it. John had needed a mother, his father had needed his wife, and though John had wanted to blame his mom for what life had become after her death, he couldn't. She hadn't chosen to die. Some drunk in a pick-up had made that choice for her.

The harsh truth was that it had been his father's fault for choosing to shut down. John still didn't hate him. If anything, he felt sorry for him.

John couldn't afford to feel sorry for himself.

John shivered beneath the mound of netting that wasn't doing squat to stop the cold. He peeled his sticky eyelids from his sore, dry eyes and saw light filtering gray through the chinks between the wall paneling. Time moved fast when one wasn't paying attention to it.

John moved his stiff, hurting body little by little, reaching out to the top-most crate for support as he hauled himself to his feet. He dragged himself to the hole, and went to his chest to slip his slender body through. Outside, the air was crisp and dry, making it painful to breathe. Hauling himself back to his feet, John wrapped his arms around himself and made a mental note to find some kind of large cloth or rag to use as covering before he finally froze to death. The fact that he hadn't was a miracle he was extremely grateful for.

The dry, frigid air seemed to rub his lungs raw as he wandered, and his body convulsed in coughs that nearly brought him to his knees. He staggered through the streets, and flat out avoided everyone - street wanderers and store owners alike.

Until a body darted from out of an alley, veering in a sharp, scrambling turn to bolt in Sheppard's direction. The figure was short, and the face looked young – a kid, probably in his mid-teens, with greasy, stringy brown hair and a cut on his face oozing blood, his stick-thin arms clutching a brown-wrapped package to his chest. The boy's ragged coat and shirt fluttered out behind him as he tore over the cobblestones. He did not slow when he passed Sheppard, and John soon saw why. A group of older boys, twenty and up, four in all, came bursting from the alley, shouting profanities and promises involving a lot of pain. They also rushed passed John without a glance. John turned to watch in dazed curiosity as the boy skidded to a stop at a dead end – namely a tall fence between two buildings. The boy leaped with the intent to climb, only to have his pursuers catch up and pull him down, then shove him to the ground.

" Give us the meat you little brat!" Said the tall, round faced young man with the close-cropped blond hair.

" No!" the kid spat, defiant but trembling as he slowly backed away, still on the ground. " I-I bought it. You hear me! I bought it fair and square so it's mine!" The kid hugged the package to him tighter. The blond reached down to take it, and the kid bit him.

The blond boy howled, snatching his hand back, then kicked the kid hard in the hip. The kid seemed not to notice and rolled himself into a tight ball to protect his prize. So the boys began kicking, punching, and attempting to pull the boy apart.

The shock of the violence sparked in John reaction without thought. He ignored his aches and pains to go striding over to the dirty thugs, focusing on the blond instigator. He grabbed the punks arm and in a single fluid motion twisted it behind the guy's back while gripping his collar. He swung the young punk around, bringing the kid's arm up further until he yelped out a cry of pain.

" I think the kid said that was his," John growled, pulling the arm further. " So why don't you respect that and move on, pal." He chanced a glance over his shoulder at the boy slowly uncurling himself then rising cautiously to his feet. " You okay kid?"

The kid was clutching his side, but nodded all the same.

" Good, then you'd better get out of here."

The kid nodded again, turned, and leaped up to snag the top of the fence and climb over.

" Hey!" The blond barked. John lifted his arm further up.

" Did I say you could talk? Now get out of here before I..."

John was interrupted by a blow to his head that sent him lurching sideways, clutching the back of his skull.

" Thanks Myls," he heard the blond say through the ringing in his ears. John saw the punk out of the corner of his eye moving toward him and readying his fist. John caught the fist as it flew, holding it back as he struck out himself, landing a cracking blow to the kid's jaw. An arm snaked around his throat and tightened trying to pull John back. John tangled his feet with that of his attacker so that they both went down with John on top. At the same time he kicked out at a third man rushing toward him, sending the man staggering back. John elbowed the guy beneath him, pulled the arm away, and scrabbled to his feet. The fourth guy immediately plowed into him to smash him against the wooden fence. The collision shoved the breath from John's lungs. Dazed, dizzy, he slid to the ground and crumpled where kicks and blows rained down on him over and over...

Something told him he was going to be with his mom very soon.

SGA

Maj unconsciously picked at the brush end of her waist-length braid of winter-gray hair as she stared through the display window at the little contingent of heavy bodied young men in thick coats get their rear-ends handed to them by a scrawny, ragged, dirty, dark haired man who was proving the more adept fighter. Where as the boys lunged without thought, the man reacted as though with thought. He had technique, like someone trained to fight, and that made the old woman arch an eyebrow curiously.

" They'd best not draw any weapons," said the twiggy store-keep as he loaded the packaged food items into Maj's basket. " Had one just last week that kept people away for three days."

Maj wasn't really listening. She was engrossed in the fight, and an internal debate as to whether or not she should interfere. So far, the skinny man was acting very capable of handling himself. Then he was slammed into the fence by one of the charging brats. The man crumpled, and the over-sized brats began pummeling him with fists and feet.

Now that she would not allow. Most folk of the city were blinded enough by indifference to turn a blind eye and a cold shoulder, but that scrappy young man was getting pounded in consequence of his kindness. Maj had seem him come to the boy's aid, and hold the older boys off to let the younger boy flee. A selfless act of such nature required a reward, and Maj was just the woman to give it.

She stomped to the door while whipping her rifle from off her shoulder. Once outside, she aimed it at an angle toward the ground and fired. The crack of gunfire pulsated sharply all around, with the bullet pinging off the stone streets to embed harmlessly into the wall of the building across the way. The four men halted their attack and whirled around to face Maj. Maj lifted her rifle to rest it against her shoulder.

" Wisdom would dictate that you clear off," she said, loud and calm as a summer breeze, " before my aim finds a mark involving less wood and more flesh."

The blond brat spat on the ground. " Why don't you clear off, you crone!"

Maj lifted her brow. " Crone!" She might have been mid-sixty, but folks were always complimenting that she didn't look a day over forty. Most of her wrinkles were situated at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Truthfully, she didn't feel a day beyond thirty. " Oh, I won't be having that kind of disrespect. Gidel!"

Gidel stepped out of the tack and supply shop next to the food shop with his own rifle in hand. He was a man of medium height, with light brown hair cut so close to his scalp it made his head look like a prickly ball, and he was far more heavily built than the four unarmed and suddenly nervous boys before Maj. Gidel jerked his shoulders to adjust his fur-lined beige coat, and sniffed.

" Situation, aunt Maj?" Gidel's voice was deep, appropriate for his size and baring.

" Stupidity of youth. Seems these young sirs are incapable of listening to their elders. I told them to clear off," she grinned coldly, " and yet here they stand."

Gidel sniffed again. " You don't say." He swung his rifle around to point at the boys. " We can do this quick or hard. And by quick I mean I can end your life with a shot, or savor the moment by breaking your necks one at a time."

Gidel wasn't a violent man, but like these boys knew that, and they never would with Gidel's ability to keep such a straight face no matter the stories he weaved. The boys took the hint, and in so doing took off running back up the street. Maj quickly slung her rifle back onto her shoulder and took wide strides to the unmoving form on the ground.

" The wagon, Gidel. Bring it around. And grab the food basket along the way. I left it in the shop," she said. She heard a grunt of a reply, then Gidel's thumping footsteps as he took off to do his aunt's bidding.

Maj adjusted her maroon skirt in order to kneel beside the man. Her old knees were spared the cold of the stone ground thanks to her brown breeches beneath. Always wise to dress in layers this time of year. She placed her hand on the young, dark-haired man's sharp shoulder, but got no reaction. She yanked her leather gloves from her hand then pressed two fingers to the pulse-point on the man's neck.

The life beat thrummed rapid and fluttery against her fingertips. He was alive, but not in a good way. She stared at his pale, dirty, bruised and blood-smeared face half covered by the thickening black prickle of a beard. It was a gaunt face, with sunken eyes surrounded by shadow, and the skin under her fingers was clammy with sweat and hot with fever. Her eyes passed over his body, along with her hand. taking him and his current condition in. The long-sleeved black shirt was smeared in dirt, and something darker that she was certain was blood. She saw through the small tears and holes of the shirt, and felt beneath her hand, the curved bars of the man's ribcage. Yet he was in no wise a wasted, emaciated fellow. Muscle remained, which she could also feel in the man's flank and along his arm, pulled taunt with tension to be solid as a rock, twitching and shuddering. Skin, bone, and muscle - that's what he was.

Which meant that he was no vagabond, wandering the streets without a home. This young man had been healthy, perhaps not that long ago. And he was an off-worlder by his strange clothes – maybe an enforcer in his world, or some sort of soldier. Maj held no prejudices against off-worlders since she might as well be one herself with the way she traveled. She'd come across plenty of societies to know that it was usually the warriors – soldiers, keepers of the law – trained to fight using brains rather than only brawn.

Her assumptions were proving themselves to be accurate. While feeling out broken bones (ribs, for the most part) her hand collided with something hard beneath the man's shirt at his waistband. She pulled the shirt up to find a rather fancy looking projectile weapon tucked into his pants. Pulling it out, it felt light and easy to handle in her hands. She tucked it away into the pocket of her coat, just to play it safe, then continued her search for broken bones all the way down the man's long legs.

So far, mostly the ribs seemed to be affected, but the man's clothes could be hiding more injuries. She returned her sights back to his face. She was good when it came to guessing ages, and her guess for this man was somewhere in his late thirties, maybe early forties. But in her advanced years, no matter how deep the man was into adulthood, he was still just a kid in her old eyes. A kid in a lot of pain made evident in the tight lines of his face. And with the pain was a nasty bout of illness making his breath shallow, rapid and raspy.

It pricked her heart to see it. Maj was a good enough judge of people to yet be proved wrong in her assessments. She didn't even need to talk to the man. The fact that this off-worlder had risked his life to save a young boy said plenty for there not to be words. She reached out and brushed the mussed, black, spiked hair away from the pale, burning forehead. It was an action that had worked well on her own son, Fiel, when he was little, so used it with the same intent on this man.

The clatter of clawed feet and wheels on the bumpy streets pulled her attention around to her wagon trundling toward her. The black, six-legged Lyret snorted out a puff of cloudy breath that obscured its reptilian face. When the wagon was close enough, Gidel pulled back on the reins with a loud 'whoa' until the Lyret stopped with a snort and a shake of its head that jangled the reins. Gidel set the leads aside and hopped from the wagon to stride casually over to his aunt.

" We're taking him with us then?" he said.

Maj pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her hands then tugging on her gloves. " Yes," she said in the tone that usually brokered no more questions.

But Gidel never had been a good listener. " You sure?"

" Quite. Now be gentle when gathering him up. He's injured and ill."

Gidel nodded and crouched beside the still figure. He gathered the slender, dark haired man into his arms like he was a child, and carried him to the wagon. The Lyret snaked its head around in order to get a sniff, only to snap back when Maj swatted the curious beast on the nose. Gidel set the unconscious man in the wagon bed, and Maj climbed in after. She dragged the basket of blankets to her, and pulled out the colorfully woven cloths to drape over the man. The man, less curled, was quite tall, as though someone had taken him by the ears and stretched him out. She tucked the blankets around him until he was cocooned, except for the feet so she could remove his boots.

Gidel climbed back into the wagon at the front and took up the reins. With a snap, he got the Lyret moving, steering it in a U-turn to head back up the street. The wagon rocked and trundled noisily until it came to the branch in the road. Gidel steered the beast right. Maj untied the laces of the man's boots and methodically tugged them off, then his socks. Just as she had suspected, his clothes were hiding injuries. His left ankle was swollen and splotchy with purple bruises. Nothing to do for it now, so she tucked the blankets around the man's feet. Next, she grabbed the first-aid sack and pulled out a white, clean cloth. Taking the canteen next, she soaked the rag in water and proceeded to clean the cuts on the man's face while simultaneously cool his forehead. Although in this weather, he probably wouldn't need much cooling off.

" It's a two day journey home," Gidel said. " Think he'll make it?"

Maj moistened the cloth some more. " We've got the herbs for reducing fever. I'll make a tea next time we stop." She paused in her administrations to brush another strand of hair away, and a small smile played at her lips. " And something tells me he'll fight through. Just don't ask me what that something is yet."

Gidel chuckled. " If _you_ say so, I don't need to know that something."

TBC...


	7. The Wilds

Rodney felt like they were walking through a den of blind wraith. Except the wraith would have eaten them by now, not flashed them dirty looks over dirty shoulders. His mind refused to register that they had been passed off as Genii entering Ioth on a man hunt, that the guard on duty had not been one of the ones with previous encounters involving the 'Lanteans and therefore knowing their faces, and that going to the authorities to ask for aid was a choice and not a necessity. According to Caul, unless the 'fugitive' the supposed Genii were after could be considered a danger to the people of Ioth, the Enforcers really didn't care. And to play things safe, Lorne had labeled Sheppard as a danger only to the Genii.

The team's plan was remarkably simple – either they found Sheppard first and brought him home, or the Enforcers did and sent him home. Either way, it was a win/win situation ( as long as on both ends Sheppard came back _alive_.) Unless the Ioth government got nosy and demanded to know more of the Genii's business with Sheppard. McKay's heart refused to slow down, and every flash of a dark blue Enforcer uniform moving through the crowds made his heart jump. His sense of self preservation was waiting for the moment when the Enforcers came because they had found the Atlanteans out.

Except where Caul was taking them -according to the ex-kidnapper – they wouldn't have to worry about the enforcers.

" Your friend on the inside might keep the authorities spurned into action searching the heart of the city," he had said, " but it takes a practical job extermination threat to get the law poking around on the outskirts."

And that's where Caul was taking them now, keeping at a pace so the Atlanteans would always have him in their sights. Ronon had considered keeping a rope around the little man's neck. Rodney had been quite inclined to agree, but Lorne had said it would look a little to conspicuous. But so far the mousy man was proving true to his word. When he came out of the crowd, he would stop to wait by a building or alley entrance for the rest to catch up. It was no simple task trying to stay together, and seconds after regrouping they would be dispersed by the river of bodies trying to pull them every which way.

The team consisted of Major Lorne, Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, and Lt. Stewart, all dressed in the dull gray Genii uniforms provided to them by Sora, who had kept giving the Atlanteans odd looks on personally delivering the uniforms herself. Along with the uniforms were caps that obscured the teams features – just enough not to be recognized at a glance. It probably would have been more logical to send a whole other team to Ioth, but since the team would be going as Genii, Elizabeth felt that familiar faces would cause Sheppard less panic and retaliation.

Caul took them farther from the heart of the city, where the crowds flowed more freely and jostled less. The team couldn't always keep each other in sight, but they did keep in contact through their radios, and as long as they kept heading in the general direction Caul had gone, they always met back up.

Rodney was panting heavily the next time they gathered, and jolted as though electrocuted on seeing Caul trot up a flight of rickety stairs. McKay wiped sweat off his brow using the cuff of his sleeve.

" Wow, here all ready?'

Caul didn't enter the building, or even knock. He was up on the landing, then trotting back down the steps. " They're gone," he said.

" How do you know?" Rodney asked. " You didn't even knock."

" I didn't need to. There's a 'for rent' sign on the door. I didn't really expect them to be here, but felt it a good starting point to search for your Colonel. Just remember, if you are going to split up, only do it within a single block. Don't turn down any streets unless accompanied and armed. People on the outskirts tend to be more hostile to strangers. Being armed and dressed as soldiers, you shouldn't encounter too many problems, but many tend not to consider the risks, especially if they're drunk."

Lorne twitched his head in a nod. " Right. Could you take us to the place where Sheppard fell into the river?"

" Yes, it's not that far."

So they were off again, moving further into these outskirts where bodies were spaced enough to let a guy swing out an arm without hitting anyone. When they came to the edge of the river that dropped off into water the color of putrid mud, Rodney's stomach clenched, and he was pretty sure his face had gone green. " He fell into that? Good gosh! All we'll need to do to find him is follow the sound of puking."

Debris from wood to what Rodney didn't even want to know churned and writhed in the rapid currents. What looked to be the mutilated and bloody carcass of some animal surfaced, rolled, then sank. Rodney finally had to look away.

" All right, we got an eye full of the river. Can we continue on please?" he said, stuffing his numbing hands into his pocket. It wasn't the river that was making his stomach coil. In that filth, in this cold, and after wasting a day and a half waiting for the damned uniforms, it would be a miracle finding Sheppard alive. Except Sheppard was a man who basically tore all odds against him to shreds, so the real miracle would be them _getting_ him back home alive.

The team started moving away from the river, following Caul.

" I'll take you to where the shore is shallowest so you can start there. I know of a good inn down that way. It won't look like much at first sight, but believe me when I say it's the cleanest inn on the outskirts. I know since I used to work there. They also provide meals that won't make you ill."

Rodney sighed. " Well, as long as we don't end up with lice and salmonella I suppose that's reason enough not to complain." And like Rodney was going to complain about food and shelter with Sheppard stumbling around cold and hungry. Unless he'd come upon some kindly Iothian babe who had taken him in like a wounded puppy. With Sheppard's luck, on this off-worlder hating planet, McKay didn't put it past the man.

Rodney pulled the copied photo of John from his pocket, mentally prepping himself for the bad-ass Genii soldier act he was going to need when the questioning commenced. The picture Rodney held was of Col. Sheppard sitting at the mess table in front of a half-eaten plate of lasagna, dressed in his usual long-sleeved black shirt and BDUs, and with his trade-mark lopsided, lazy grin. The original picture was of the entire team eating lunch. It had been taken by Zelenka who liked to spend his free time working on a digital scrapbook. Nothing but people, no technology, so they could have memories that didn't require security clearance to look at.

Happy-go-lucky, carefree Colonel Sheppard. One would think with all the crap he goes through he would never smile. Although McKay was pretty certain John didn't smile as much now as when Rodney first met him.

People passing gave them wide berth and dangerous yet guarded looks. Rodney was feeling rather confident coming off as a threat, so long as no one decided to test as to whether or not he really was a threat. Rodney searched the faces – and the hair – for the one familiar visage he hoped hadn't been altered by any sort of illness... or physical attack. But one face was like another, dirty, angry, jaded, and fighting back fear.

Rodney hoped he didn't see that on Sheppard as well.

SGA

Three days was always the give or take time it took to reach Village 443, but Maj hoped to cut that time with fewer stops. They needed to get the dark haired man into shelter, where he could be more properly treated.

The town ended where the cobblestones abruptly changed to the slick but compact mud of the wilds road. There were no people beyond the cobblestones, only abandoned buildings sagging and tilting from wood rot and age, with a few completely collapsed save for a frame, a wall, or a floor. The buildings were spaced, not connected, and soon they thinned out to be replaced by the prickly trees with their dark needles, and the bare, sleeping trees that were usually quite lovely when in full bloom in the spring. The freezing winds had stripped the leaves, leaving the branches naked as knobby bones.

The wagon moved smooth over the dirt path with hardly a bump. It was usually the jostling of the uneven city streets that made the going rough. Without the hindrance, they wouldn't have to make frequent stops for the sake of the sick man huddled beneath the mound of blankets. Maj's wagon she had designed herself, then modified over the years until one hardly noticed it was even moving at all, especially when asleep.

Maj continued to mop the brow of the sick man, but her gaze was fixed to the last of the buildings – still standing after more years than even she could count – dwindling away into the distance, the fading remnant of the city. One would think a city to be more ancient at its center. But time does strange things to a world. It was obvious the spread of the city ceased after the battle with the wraith, and turned inward instead of outward. People refused to go beyond the cobblestone streets. Between paved road and the nearest wilderness settlement, it was no-man's land. No enforcers, no habitations, not even an inn or a shop. The strip of wild between the city and the mountains didn't exist until one was traveling through it. Not even those desperate to escape the law hid in the wilds. The wandering brigands made long-term camps as near as possible to a village, and barely stopped when going from one settlement town to the next. Everyone knew that.

There was no trusting to the wilds.

The going was painfully silent except for the thump of the Lyret's six feet, the jingle of reins, and the creak of the wheels. Somewhere in the distance a bird would croak, making Maj's muscles flinch but never enough to get her head to snap up. She new the silence of no-man's land like she knew her wagon. It was a good silence, deep enough to hear the breathing of some beast or man attempting to trail them. Most animals knew better than to tag her wagon. Lyrets as a whole were intimidating beasts, but a black Lyret even a desperately starving predator knew better than to tangle with. Lyrets moved fast in a fight, and black Lyrets didn't stop fighting until either itself or the attacker was dead. Blacks were also bigger, with more muscle, and have been known to crush a rock with one foot.

The unconscious man never stirred, and that worried Maj. Still, she had instructed Gidel not to stop until after darkness came, and she was going to stick by that. When the gray sky faded to deeper blue, then pitch black, Maj tossed the electric torches to Gidel. Her nephew placed them on either side of the seat to illuminate the way ahead. Not that the Lyret needed them – it could see in the dark – but Maj wanted to be able to spot the mile markers that would tell her the distance to village 443.

When they saw it, coming up around the bend in the road, they stopped. Gidel grabbed a flashlight and hopped out of the seat to go tether the Lyret to the marker pole, then went off with rifle slung over his shoulder to gather some fire wood. Maj gathered the extra flashlights around her, illuminating the body of the stranger. She pulled back the blankets and pushed them aside. When the cold air struck, the young man curled himself into a tight, shivering ball.

Maj sighed. " Sorry, young man, but I'm afraid you're going to get more uncomfortable before you get comfortable." Maj then proceeded to remove the man's ragged, stained shirt, which took a bit of coaxing and a lot of maneuvering on her part. The man hissed with pain, emitted small groans, but didn't put up any resistance. When the shirt was finally off, she bundled it up and tossed it into the corner of the wagon. Looking back to the stranger, she paused and blinked.

The skinny body was a mess, like the work of an insane artist. The pale skin made the various shades of bruising so bright it made Maj wince in sympathy. Bruises all over his back, his front, but heaviest and darkest on his left side, which was a dangerous place to procure such bruises being the area where the heart was set. The cuts, abrasions and gashes made Maj nervous. Most were clotted, but a few were oozing off-colored liquid. But the young man was fortunate he had been found by Maj, and during now of all times. On the other side of the wagon kept safe in a large, locked, ornate chest, was the collection of healing medicines and plants she had gathered from her recent off-world drip.

Maj covered the young man back up and waited until Gidel returned with the wood. They made a fire ring in the middle of the road since only a fool would travel at night. When rocks were formed into a ring and the wood pile was lit by Gidel using the tiny laser Maj had obtained on Athos some years ago, she filled a metal kettle full of water and set it in the flames to heat up. As the water warmed, she went to the chest and rummaged through it for the needed plants and powders. She continued her wait by crushing the plants in a clay bowl with a worn pestle. The kettle eventually whistled, and Maj removed it with a cloth. She poured the heated water into the bowl, enough to form a paste, then poured water into an empty bowl. She brought both over to her patient, setting them on the chest-top, then climbed into the wagon. She pulled back the blanket, and taking the heated water and a cloth, began cleaning the wounds all over the young man's body. The man's breathing increased to shallow pants, and he twitched with each application of the hot cloth to the cuts, but didn't have the strength to even moan very loud.

" Easy there," Maj soothed. She had no choice but to press the cloth hard against the wound if she wanted the cleaning to be deep. The more she cleaned, the more the man moved, beginning to writhe, moaning as well as whimpering. Blood began flowing again, which was a good thing since it would help clear dirt from the wounds. It was when she began cleaning what looked to be clay bits out of the wound on his shoulder that he let out a yelp of a cry and tried to rise in order to get away. Maj placed her hand on his uninjured shoulder blade and pushed him back down without effort.

" Shhh, it's all right. I'm almost done, then I'll give you something for the pain." Maj remained quite calm despite the cry having broken her heart. She continued to speak softly to him, squeezing his good shoulder in reassurance, until she finished digging the clotted blood and filth from the last gash across his collarbone. She set the bowl of hot water aside, and picked up the bowl of pulp. She used her fingers to smear the green-brown substance over the wounds, smoothing them out along the edges. When the pulp dried, it would prove far superior to any bandage. It sealed the wounds, protecting them from contamination, as well as absorbing toxins already accumulated in the blood stream. It both cleansed the wounds and kept them clean, but healing was still up to the body.

Healing was going to be the hard part if she couldn't get him coherent enough to get some food in him. He was looking frail because he was starving, which broke Maj's heart even more than the wounds. When she finished applying the the pulp, she pulled the blankets back over him up to his shoulders. The heat of the fever lingered but the cold air had brought it down to be less of a concern for now.

" Gidel," she called, dipping another cloth into the now luke-warm water. " Could you put more water in the kettle and set it by the fire. I need to make the tea."

" Yes aunt Maj."

Maj wrung the cloth until it was only moist and not soaked, then gently began wiping the dirt, grime, and blood caking the man's face. She would have to give the man a shave when they returned home in order to find the rest of the bruising. She kept the cloth light over the bruises on his cheekbone, along his jaw, and his eye. She moved downward to his neck, and her fingers brushed the metal chain of a necklace. She set the cloth aside and pulled the chain until the two metal tags emerged from the blanket. Maj had to lean in close, and picked up one of the flashlights to read what it said. The language was similar to several languages she had learned during her times off world, but much of what was written made no sense to her. Starting at the top, that had to be a name.

" J... Jooo – hon... No, that doesn't sound right. H must be silent. Then it's John. John... Shhhh eeee p ard. Shep-pard. Sheppard. John Sheppard. Huh." She looked at the man's sleep-slackened face. " That your name then, young one? John. John. Strong sounding name. I like it." Maj read the rest that made little sense to her. " Blood type – O negative. Wonder what that's all about?"

The high pitched whistle of the kettle pulled her attention from the tags. She tucked them back under the blanket against the man's chest, then patted his shoulder. " Well, John Sheppard, it's nice to finally have a name to put with that handsome face of yours. You wait here – not that you have much choice in the matter – and I'll give you a tea that should help with your fever, I hope."

The tea was simple to make. A few herbs in a tin cup, allowed a few moments to soak, and in those moments sitting out in the chilled evening air, the water tempered down enough to be swallowed without burning the throat. Maj positioned herself at John's head, and lifted him enough to have him resting against her chest.

" John Sheppard. You need to wake now, boy. Not all the way, just a bit for a drink. It won't be too pleasant going down but it'll help you feel better. Plus you could do with moistening of your insides. You've probably sweated bucket fulls by down." She brought the cup to John's lips and tilted it enough to get drops inside. The young man reacted by choking and arching his back some in discomfort, but Maj had a firm hold on him with her arm around his chest.

" Come on now, John, just a few swallows. Don't fight it or I'll be forced to pry your jaws open, and you wouldn't want that."

Perhaps John had heard, or perhaps he was so thirsty even the bitter powder of the tea didn't stop him from satiating his thirst, because he began gulping down more than a few drops. In only seconds, he had the cup drained. Maj looked at the empty cup in wide-eyed disbelief, which quickly softened into pity. With a sigh, she gently began lowering John back to the wagon floor, pausing long enough to shove a folded blanket beneath his head. She then adjusted the blankets back up around his neck, and brushed the hair away from his forehead.

" You poor thing," she said. " What good deed did you do before the one I saw that got you into this mess?"

John was making the trip less uneventful than it usually turned out to be. The fever was a fighter, forcing Maj to go for desperate measures that involved not only keeping the young man uncovered, but wiping him down with a wet cloth that made him shiver violently. When the fever declined, she would cover him back up. When it rose, she would uncover him. She managed get water into him, but not food. Even a simple, watered-down broth ended up being expelled from his angry stomach within minutes. Maj did what she could for the poor man, while cursing the ones who had put him in this state.

The road became less smooth on entering the mountains. It wound around through man-made passes that enclosed them in sheer walls of striated and jagged rock. The going was a lot of ups and downs, through small, narrow canyons cut by the Angk river that was so clean one could drink straight from it without needing to purify it. They passed through forests made ghostly pale from the bleached winter moss clinging to tree-trunks, rocks, fallen logs, and the forest floor. They skirted the edge of canyons where the river churned up frothy white rapids beating against jagged rocks far below.

By early noon on the third day and their final leg of the journey, Gidel slowed the Lyret when the road turned and the valley entrance emerged into sight. It was a man-made tunnel cutting through a lesser mountain. Gidel fished through the pockets of his coat until he produced a metallic card. He pulled the wagon up to the gate of thick metal grating blocking the way into the tunnel. Hopping out, he went up to the metal box to the side, slipped the card into the slot, waited until the light changed from blue to green, pulled it out and climbed back into the wagon. The metal grating lifted away with a clank, groan and whine. Gidel snapped the reins and the Lyret trotted into the dusky lit tunnel.

The lights buzzed and flickered overhead, and a few were completely out. The tunnel lights weren't exactly on a daily upkeep. Although someone must have recently replaced the filament bulbs. Last time they'd traveled through en route to the city, the tunnel was nearly pitch black except for one or two lights.

The tunnel was monotonously long, damp, and carrying a faintly metallic scent in the air. The walls glistened as though covered in a fine sheen of sweat, much like the face of the poor young man huddled in the back of her wagon. At the end of the tunnel was another gate and key box. Gidel repeated the process with the keycard, and the grate opened with a clunk and groan.

Maj huffed out a sharp breath. " Well, hope we got all we needed. I may have applied for our next card early but the blasted thing still won't get here for five weeks."

Gidel just grunted his annoyance. No one could come or go as they pleased through the tunnel leading to the city without a key card. The valley where Village 443 was situated was closed in on all sides by high, sheer-walled mountains and canyons. The only reason the village existed was thanks to a few braves souls (Maj's ancestors included) who had found a way in by going the way of the river. Except for the tunnel and the river, there really was no other way out or in unless one possessed exceptional climbing or boating skills. Unfortunately for 443, there was a band of brigands who did possess exceptional boating skills. But 443 had grown accustomed to their ways and knew how to handle them.

The wagon exited the tunnel to a view of the entire valley stretching before them, buried under needled trees. Far across the way were the Iaret canyons where the Iarets nested, and to the right which was also the north, were the old ruins said to have once belonged to the Ancestors. Village 443 was hidden by the tall, dark green needled trees somewhere in the center of the valley. Gidel turned the wagon to follow the angling path that ran back and forth across the mountainside until turning into the woods toward the village. They would reach the village by dark, which for once Maj was thankful for. 443 tended to be nosy about the arrival of an off-world traveler such as herself. They would be even more nosy seeing what she had in the back of her wagon. Maj had lived in 443 the majority of her life, and most of the people she didn't trust worth a lick. Folk became hostile and hot-headed when it came to new comers, and Maj wasn't in the mood to put up with it.

When twilight eased across the sky, Maj covered John's face with the blanket, leaving a gap enough for him to breathe. When darkness came, Maj saw the pin-prick of lights through the trees marking the village. Then the trees dispersed, opening up into a clearing of muddy streets and two-story houses of sanded logs and pitch filling the gaps between the chinks. Scattered street lamps cast pale circles of light on the wide streets, and electric lamps hooked to trestles cast their glow on the painted doors. Maj kept one hand on the mound of blankets covering her new charge, feeling for the slightest stir so she could prevent future movement. She looked up at the glowing squares that were the second story windows. Suspicious, pale faces peered out when her wagon trundled by, then vanished either to the side or when the curtains were drawn.

Maj's house was at the very edge of the village just where the forest began and the path leading to the Iaret Canyon, and they were almost there. Suddenly, the beam of an electric torch flashed across the ground and along the wall of a barn. A shadow-veiled figure looking large and hunched wearing a thick coat approached, and moved to walk along side the wagon. The man's hood was down, and his stringy auburn hair had grown an inch past his shoulders since Maj last saw him. His auburn beard was thicker as well, hiding most of his square, rugged features. The man swung his torch back and forth creating patterns of light in the darkness.

" Maj, my dear," he said casually. " Welcome back."

Maj rolled her eyes. " Thank you, Jorsek." She simpered. " Hoping I brought you a little something? You're too old for a treat, Jorsek, and you never appreciated the ones I brought when you were a boy, so your business had best be about greeting and only greeting."

Jorsek's lips curled in a grin. " What's beneath the blankets, old woman."

" None of your concern, young man. Now let us be. You know who we are, so get back to your watch."

Jorsek said nothing for a moment as he strolled alongside the wagon. Then, quick as a striking beast, he lunged to the side and yanked back the blankets. Both his shaggy eyebrows lifted to his hairline.

" What's this then?" He looked up at Maj. " Since when did you start trading for human flesh? Slave market on some rock having a sale?"

Maj curled her lips over her teeth and snatched the blankets back over John's head. " He's no one to concern yourself with." Maj thought fast. " He's my son."

Jorsek's bushy brow lowered. " I thought your Fiel died?"

" Not Fiel. This one's named John. He was from a marriage after my Hilom died. Took place off world during that stint when I wanted to try living else where. Remember that? That two years I was gone? It was short lived after the boy came into being and that fool husband of mine took off with him. Been running from world to world looking for him. I won't bore you with the details, but I found him, half-starved and barely alive, poor child. So don't get any ideas about treating him poorly. He's the only child I've got left."

It hurt like a succession of physical blows to spin that tale. She had no qualms about lying to that meat head Jorsek, but it was no pleasant reminder that the truth of the matter was that she had no more children. Her daughter had vanished on her own accord out of bitterness, and her son Fiel had died two years ago.

Then there was John's own mother. It didn't matter that what she said was a lie to save the man's life, it didn't sit right claiming another's child as her own. She sent a silent apology to the woman who was John's real mother.

Jorsek stared at Maj while keeping up with the wagon, trying to fathom if she was playing at something, and what that something was. Jorsek tended to come across as a numb-skull, but he had a clever streak he knew when and how to use. If he suspected something, then Maj was going to have to be careful, maybe not let John out of the house. The problem with that was, now that Jorsek knew of John, he wouldn't hesitate to spread the word. People would stay back for the time John remained ill, but once that passed then they were going to be persistent about wanting to meet him.

443 had its decent folk, but since the capital had been thrusting citizens out into the wild settlements, there were fewer decent and more of the unsavory kind. Maj felt old protective instincts start boiling to the surface. Jorsek would definitely show no courtesy. Then there was that harlot hag Mris. The girl had no respect for herself, and tended to throw herself at anyone willing to participate in a night of physical pleasures. And she was hard to shake off. Even Gidel – who could ignore a bug trying to burrow into his ear – had to growl at the girl to get her to leave. Then she would go all teary eyed and whine about how Gidel was 'mean to her'. Which in turn got many of the local young men quite riled up.

Never to violence, though. Only to cursing. It was common knowledge that Gidel was not a man to pick a fight with. Her nephew's thick body alone was testament to that.

" Fine," Jorsek said after a moment. " Just remember to bring him to the council should he survive."

Maj snorted. " No need. He's no plans to stay. I'm just getting him back on his feet is all. He'll be out of the village's hair when my next keycard comes."

" They'll still want to meet him," Jorsek said as though giving Maj a warning. Then he wandered off.

" Meat head," Maj murmured.

When they got to Maj's dwelling, Gidel pulled up directly before the door and hopped out. He needed no instruction from Maj. After she climbed from the wagon and unlocked her door to go in first and click on the lights, Gidel gathered John's thin body still wrapped in the blankets and carried him up the stairs across from the door to the guest-room at the far left end of the hall. Maj leading the way.

Maj opened the door and sucked in a sharp breath when the still, frigid air brushed her face. She flipped the knob for the light and the filament bulb buzzed and flickered to life. The bed was across the room beneath the curtained window where her collection of crystal chimes hung. Normally she used this room to create the trinkets she used for trading. On the right was her work table cluttered with bits of crystals, metal, rocks, tanned animals hides, feathers, wood and her tools. On the left was a small, old fashioned wood stove, squat and square with a pipe climbing up along the wall into the ceiling. Her electric heating unit wasn't what it once was, and the guest room was usually the last to get warmth, sometimes not getting warmth at all.

Maj pulled back the blankets of the bed then went to the stove to toss in a few logs. Gidel set John on the bed still wrapped in the blankets. Maj borrowed Gidel's small laser to light the wood that flared into a small blaze. It wouldn't be long until the tiny room was comfortably warm.

Maj caught the sound of claws clacking on the polished wood of the hallway floor. She glanced up from the stove briefly to see a two foot tall, two-legged lizard with winged forearms running toward her with its long narrow snout gaping to emit a high, croaking purr. Maj smiled.

" Why Ris. Come to say hello or are you looking for another treat?" Maj said. She crouched to give the little green/brown mini-iaret a pat on the head. The odd thing about these creatures and their larger cousins was that unlike most reptilian creatures, iaret skin was covered by a fine, soft fuzz that made them pleasant to pet. But their value lay more in their use at keeping vermin out of the garden, food cellars, and cupboards. Ris gave a high-pitched croak at the welcome, then lost all interest and moved over to the bed to sniff at its occupant.

Maj dusted wood bits from her hand as she straightened. " Thank you Gidel. I can handle things from here."

Gidel looked between Maj and John, then settled his skeptical gaze on Maj. " You sure? I mean, not to question you or anything aunt Maj, 'cause I know you mean it when you say you can handle things... But you know nothing about this man. And he's ill, he might react out of delirium."

Maj smiled warmly at her nephew. Even before his mother – Maj's sister – died of illness, he had always been protective of his favorite (and only) aunt. Even more so now that she was the only family he had left. Maj stepped toward him and placed her hand on his thick upper arm.

" I'll be fine, Gidel, I promise. You know me. I've handled far bigger and more vicious than this one here. If I need you, I'll ring you up on the line. Doubt the boy'll be able to move too quick with what's raging in his body."

Gidel smiled, not a convinced relax smile, but one of relenting. That was how much he trusted his aunt, and Maj had no intentions of breaking that trust.

Gidel turned and left the small room to head to his own home not far from Maj's, just on the other side of the barn where the Lyret would be put up. When Gidel was out of the room, Maj went into her own room adjacent to this one, and dragged her chair of woven branches covered by violet cushions into the room and positioned it by the bed. She dropped her stiff, aching body into the chair and groaned out a breath of bliss.

" Oh now that's sweet," she sighed. She snapped her fingers at Ris when the creature tried to climb onto the bed. The creature's long face whipped around to look at her. He gave up his endeavor of scaling the bed and trotted over to Maj where he leaped into her lap. His downy, fuzzed skin still retained some cold from being outside. Ris was free to come and go as he pleased through a swinging panel at the bottom of the back door. Ris circled until he finally curled into Maj's lap. Maj stroked the iaret along the back and watched her charge sleep. The tension lines of pain had smoothed out of John's face, giving him a younger appearance, thanks to the tea that was finally taking affect and easing his agony.

" So what do you think of my find, Ris?" she asked. The iaret didn't stir. Maj chuckled. " Right, too soon to tell. But – add it up to me being a sentimental old woman – I got a good feeling about this one, and not just because he saved the life of that boy. He's got a story to him, and he deserves the chance to tell it, good or bad."

Maj chuckled again, sadly, and with less sincerity. It didn't feel all that long ago when she'd been by another bed side, waiting, watching, hoping, and having her hopes smashed into fragments. First her husband... Then Fiel.

" Don't you die on me stranger," Maj said. " You've got a story to tell."

TBC...


	8. Village 443

There was no familiarity for John. He heard sounds – voices and other noises he couldn't give a name to. He smelled things he'd never scented before. No heart monitor beeping, smells of antiseptics and rubbing alcohol, and definitely no Scottish accent nagging him to open his eyes already. His brain swam in darkness that his senses were trying to pull him out of. Except his senses didn't know a damn thing. The more they pulled him from the dark, the more he hurt, pushing him back under. But his senses needed to make sense of his messed up surroundings.

A third sense joined the party. He could feel. Softness beneath him, and unbearable heat alternating with cold, then going back to heat. If he wasn't shaking when the cold hit, he was shaking from the pain. But, sometimes, the pain would ebb away like a tide, and the darkness became absolute heaven. He wanted to surrender permanently to it, but his damn senses wouldn't let him.

What he heard and what he smelled sent shocks of cold racing down his spine. He was in a strange place, surrounded by strange people.

 _Ah hell, what now!_ Were they helping him out of the kindness of their hearts, or healing him for a bit more fun involving adding to an already massive collection of injuries?

His senses were making their point quite clear. Everything was wrong, and he needed to find out just how wrong. But every time he tried, the pain would spike, and the darkness would suck him back under. So he kept pushing through it, testing it, waiting for the moment when the pain wasn't so bad...

SGA

Frosty grass crunched under Maj's feet like bits of brittle clay if she so much as shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Frost flaked off the splints of wood she picked up from the top of the pile and placed into her woven hand-basket. Every breath felt like bringing the frost into her lungs, and it made her cough. It would have been easy to assume winter was just around the corner, but the temperatures had a way of fluctuating during the fall season before real winter finally set in. Maj lifted her foot to tap a piece of wood against her heel and dislodge more frost, then set it on top of the stack in her basket.

It was a sufficient pile in terms of number. She turned and started toward the back door of her home. She saw them out of the corner of her eye, standing clustered against the cold like a nervous herd of dumb pack animals

" I've got no time for words," Maj stated. The leader of this five person gaggle detached from the rest to start following her, so she increased her steps.

" Madame Maj," Lorek said. He was a tall man with wide shoulders, thinning brown hair, and a beard flecked with gray reaching past his chest. He wore a fur-lined, heavy long coat of dark beige frayed at the hem, and buttoned up to his neck. The heavy boots on his feet thumped and crunched the frozen grass. His longer limbs gave him enough stride to catch up to the determined Maj. " Though family business is your affair it is still your duty to alert us to the matter of bringing another into this village." Lorek's voice was deep, but a little soft. " Whether his intent is to stay or not."

 _Jorsek you dead-brained tattle-tale._ Maj began pondering suitable forms of revenge that involved placing something foul smelling in the man's home, when she was interrupted by Lorek's calloused hand landing on the shoulder of her faded white coat with the fur-lined hood.

" Madame Maj, please. We are not hear to harass you. We simply wish to know more of this supposed wayward child of yours."

When Maj reached her door, she stopped and turned on her heels, tilting her head to one side. " Well, you could ask the poor boy yourself, but all you would get is a load of ill-induced ramblings for your trouble. As for anything I have to tell you, I'm sure Jorsek's reiterated it all for me, so I really don't have much else to say."

Lorek's hand dropped from her shoulder. The tall man straightened, and made the act of adjusting his coat to keep his twitchy hands busy. The man didn't do well in a confrontation, especially with Maj. The only reason he had been made head of the Village council was because he had a propensity for wriggling into other people's business. That, and Maj had it on good authority that the man knew how to bribe (she'd gotten a few transactions several times in the past that she blatantly dismissed), especially bribing men like Jorsek and his contingent of village guardians.

But it wasn't Lorek's unsavory means of keeping the order in the village that irked Maj to giving him the cold shoulder. It was the way he kept coming to Maj every time something unusual popped up, asking her if anyone or anything happened to 'follow her back' from the capital after returning from an off world trip, or whether she had brought back some strange device of unknown origins.

It had gotten worse when the disappearances began. If she wasn't being bombarded by questions concerning the possibility of some odd creature having hitched a ride with her from some other world, it was catching the fleeting glimpse of cautious, suspicious, and even hostile looks shot her way. She was an off-world trader, therefore the perfect scapegoat for every mishap. Some of the blasted fool farmers even had the tenacity to blame her for any crop failure. So Maj had every right under the sun to be petulant when it came to the folks of this village.

Lorek inhaled a deep, calming breath, and released it slowly in a stream of cloudy air. " Please Maj, be reasonable. We are only being cautious. Just last week, Eyring Kesta's wife went into the woods to collect food herbs, and she never returned."

Maj's nerves jolted electrically on hearing this. She knew Eyring Kesta as a decent, patient man. His wife Aleen tended to be timid, but had always been fond of Maj's stories of off world travel.

Lorek continued. " I know the brigands haven't been seen for a month, and no one new has been thrust our way, but we still cannot turn our backs on inquiring after any stranger that enters our village. This isn't an interrogation, Maj. We are neither accusing you nor your son of any wrong doing. We are simply adhering to procedure."

All the fight left Maj right then and there. She couldn't well argue against procedure when people were popping off into thin air never to be heard from again. But she hated being forced to weave so much deceit.

Although wording things just right wasn't necessarily making it deceit. " His name is John, and I found him in a strange place, wounded and ill, so brought him back for healing. Though I can make no precise promises, being that he hasn't been raised on this world, chances are going to be good he won't be sticking around. He'll want to go back. When he's better, I'll allow you a chance to speak with him... But not until then."

Lorek's shoulders sagged and the muscles of his face went slack in relief. " Thank you, Maj. That is all we ask. And we promise to treat him respectfully."

Maj gave Lorek a short, stiff nod. " You'd better. Now, if you don't mind, I must attend to my son." She turned, and didn't give Lorek the chance to respond when she went inside. She walked quickly through her kitchen with the small electric stove next to the door, a sink on the left wall, and her pantry on the right. At the other end of the kitchen was the short hall leading to the front room. She turned and headed up the stairs to the guest room.

Her charge was still fast asleep under the piles of blankets that rose and fell with his heavy breathing. She could hear the breath rattling in his lungs, and the rhythm became interrupted by coughs. Maj set the basket of wood by the stove and went over to the young man. She knelt beside him, her knees popping, and placed her hand against his forehead.

Maj clucked her tongue. " Still a bit too warm. Guess it's time to take off the layers." She stood and began removing each blanket one at a time to fold them and set them on her work table. She did this until John was down to being covered by one blanket. Maj pulled that one back in order to check on his wounds. He was dressed in one of Gidel's old work shirts - two sizes too large for such a slender body, with a collar so wide it hung low on John's chest – and a pair of her husband's brown trousers kept in place around the skinny waist with a strip of leather like a make-shift belt (which it was. Her husband had always been fond of wide belts that would probably be uncomfortable for the young man.)

She lifted the shirt to see that the hardened pulp was beginning to flake off – time to make more. She also needed to wrap the man's chest and ankle, and change the wrappings around his wrists, which she had intended to do last night, but fell asleep watching over her charge. She'd been too exhausted then but had been refreshed enough today to change the man out of his filthy clothes – which she intended to wash and mend. Nothing more uncomfortable than being forced to wear over-sized clothes on an alien world. Maj had suffered such predicaments herself a few times.

Maj probed the man's visible ribs to ensure none of them had shifted. She tried to be as gentle about it as she could, but the soft moans of discomfort were inevitable. Then his head began to move, then his eyelids. Maj stopped.

The bruised looking lids fluttered open, blinking several times to remove the sleep film. The head rolled in Maj's direction, and the tired eyes squinted when they fell on Maj.

Maj blinked back in pleasant alarm, then managed to get her wits enough about her to smile kindly at her charge. " Well hello there. Glad to see..."

The man lifted his head and furrowed his brow, and it was then Maj realized that something was wrong. The man's eyes were glazed as though they'd been covered by a film of glass, and sweat ran from his hairline down the side of his face. Plus his breathing was increasing, faster and faster.

Maj stiffened. " Oh dear."

The glassy eyes widened. The man bolted upright and pulled the rest of himself out from under the covers, placing his feet beneath him then backing up practically stuffing himself into the corner at the head of the bed. Maj jerked in surprise and took an involuntary two steps back.

The man was fever wild, which meant that at this very moment he was capable of anything. But rather than being frightened (though she was quite nervous) Maj found herself oddly fascinated by what she was seeing. She was no stranger to the sick, being the local expert on healing plants and powders. She'd been witness to plenty of fever madness, and found the most common form of it to result in unfocused, unthinking, blind, raging panic. Some have even killed themselves in that fit of unprovoked terror, or wounded others. Sometimes it was mild, other times too volatile to handle

So which one was this stranger? Maj took careful note of the man's eyes, the look on his face, and the way he was trembling and breathing fast. It was his eyes that caught her interest. No wild, nameless panic there. John was all calculating caution, watching Maj as a wounded, cornered animal will watch its attackers, waiting for the first move to be made so he could make the second. His body was tense and in the proper position to pounce; crouched with the balls of his feet lifted off the bed, back curved, and his hands before him flat on the mattress.

This boy was ready for a fight, and it doubled Maj's unease. One would think the young man's frail state would not even register him as even a minor threat to the mind. Yet the gauntness of the face no longer hidden behind a beard, with the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, the pale, bruised skin, even the way the collar hung open to expose the whip-lean body beneath, and definitely the mussed hair gave John the air of a wild man running on pure instinct. Maj could see the pulsation of his chest with each heaving breath that sent threads of saliva flying from his lips. No matter his weakness, he was dangerous, and could inflict injury on Maj though she would probably end up inflicting more on him.

She would rather it didn't come down to that.

Maj held up both her hands and knelt to the floor. If one wanted to scare a predator, then the trick was to make oneself look bigger. If one wanted to calm a frightened being, then one needed to go the opposite way and make themselves small, and let that being know that it still retained some control.

" Easy there, John. Easy. It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you," she soothed.

The use of the man's name made John's eyes glitter with confusion.

" That's right, John, I know who you are. It is John, right? Your name was written on that necklace you're wearing."

John glanced briefly at the tags dangling from his neck, then returned his wary gaze to Maj. He shifted, backing further into the corner while retaining his stance of readiness. " Where..." his voice was harsh from ill use, and quiet. " Am... I?" Caution, confusion, and fear interchanged places with each other in his gaze. His trembling became more pronounced in his arms and legs, which meant they were about to give out. Maj risked inching a little closer to the terrified man.

" Far from home, I can tell you that now. You're at my house. My name is Maj. I found you wounded in the streets of the Ioth capital and brought you to my home so I could heal you. So, you see, you can safely assume I've no intention to hurt you. Why heal someone only to hurt them?"

" To hurt them some more," John stated. Maj jerked her head back. It had been a statement of fact, not a question. Maj hadn't been blind to the scars on his body hidden under the fresh wounds, she just hadn't given them a second thought what with her assuming the young man was a soldier and all. The round scars created by projectile weapons, and the longer marks that could have been made by whips, knives, or both. Scars of battle, and in light of what John had just said, torture.

This struck Maj momentarily dumb. " Uh... I suppose. But I've still no intention of hurting you. In fact, I've had to use some of my good herbs on you, so would prefer it if you returned the favor by not dieing on me." She gave a weak chuckle that was short lived. The man frowned in further confusion. His left arm gave out and he nearly landed face first on the mattress, but caught himself in time. Maj inched closer.

" Please, let me help you. You're ill and you need to rest, and I swear no harm will come to you while you're in my home. I know I have no proof to show for it, but you _can_ trust me."

The wariness was gone, leaving confusion and fear to deal with. Maj inched closer, and reached out to him. He recoiled in a flinch and shrank into a shivering huddle. But he did not attack or even swat Maj's hand away when she reached up to brush back his hair.

" See? I won't hurt you, John. It's all right for you to rest. And you need to rest. I'll keep looking out for you."

Maj had to hand it to herself – prideful though it may have been – she was good. John's body eased out of its tension when she began brushing his hair back. He unfolded himself gradually from his crouched huddle to lie curled back on the bed. The feral danger left him like morning mist fading under the sun. The wild man was gone, and in his place was something so fragile looking, covered in bruises and wearing that over sized shirt, that Maj almost believed that if she wasn't careful in the way she touched him, he would shatter to dust. It struck her with such a profound sense of protectiveness that her eyes burned with tears of fury.

What if the council had demanded to see John, forcing themselves into her home and provoking John into a state of panic by getting him to wake up? They would have overreacted, seen his fear as madness, hauled him to the prison, and made a public spectacle of him in doing so. It wouldn't be the first time. It was why they always questioned her about off-world devices as there was a superstitious belief that devices existed that could control a man's mind, turn it, and thus turn the man, on his friends, family, and neighbors. When Marl Hessing's boy had started acting strangely due to a head wound obtained from trying to climb the Iaret Cliffs, the council had him locked up, 'just in case' some 'wicked' alien device was involved.

The council, the whole village, were nothing more than a collection of panic mongers hiding behind what they thought to be the best interest of the town.

The council wasn't going to lay a finger on John. They could talk to him, get to know him, but if they touched him then that was crossing the line.

Maj continued running her fingers through the mussed hair. " Listen John. I'm going to fetch some bandaging for your chest and foot. You wait right here and I'll be back before you know it."

She rose and left, hurrying to the closet in the hall to gather the rolls of cloth strips on the top shelf. When she returned, John was fighting to keep his eyes open. She coaxed him into putting a little effort into sitting up, but did most of the work in lifting him. Still, he managed to stay upright long enough for her to bind his chest. She let him lay back down as she dealt with his ankle. Once finished, she pulled the blanket back over him.

John was fast asleep. Maj smiled in relief, and lightly patted his shoulder.

" Well, that wasn't so bad."

She spoke too soon.

For the next three nights, John's fever fought against her attempts to bring it down. She brewed teas and more pulp, cleaned his wounds, cooled him with a wet rag. But the fever kept clawing it's way back up. Any food she tried to get him to eat he expelled, and she was making him drink water every five minutes for the moisture he lost every ten minutes. On the second night, his fever spiked until he was writhing, mumbling, moaning, and whimpering in agony. She had called in Gidel to help her carry John into the wash room and set him in cold water that had him screaming and struggling to get out.

Maj stayed with him, through the day and even throughout the night. It took its toll on her, and by the third day she could barely keep her eyes open, or shuffle from room to room. Then the fourth evening came, and Maj checked John's temperature, placing her hand against his forehead then both sides of his cheeks.

The skin was cool. The fever had broken. Maj released a breath of indescribable relief. She dropped her head onto the edge of the bed, and chuckled wearily, patting John's arm.

" Good job young one," she said with her voice muffled by the mattress. " You did good. You'll be all right now. All right..."

Now she could rest herself.

SGA

John heard music. Well, perhaps not music. There was no beat to it, no rhythm, but that didn't keep him from calling it music. It was a sound like tiny bells, soft, timid, and wonderfully familiar. It brought about images he would have loved to get lost in forever. Thoughts of his mother's wind-chimes hanging from the old willow tree in their back yard when he was eight. Chimes of plain metal pipes, or metal pieces shaped into animals and painted in metallic, prismatic colors that flashed and glittered in the sunlight. Chimes of crystal and of glass like giving the wind a voice when it blew. He'd always liked the crystal ones, the way the light winked off faceted surfaces, breaking light down and casting rainbow patches on the tree trunk.

The chimes induced other images. Summer days, grassy meadows and scattered trees. Mossy forests drenched in the single color of green, where shallow brooks whispered around smooth, round rocks. Fairy-tale type places, right out of Tolkein's Middle Earth. Had it been Washington? Or northern California? Pristine snow stretching forever down a mountain side under a crisp blue sky. Walking through it had been like wading through a sea of diamonds. Cool breezes on hot days, and his mother sitting on the wooden porch swing she always had in the back yard, facing where ever her chimes were hung.

John would have been content to wallow deeper into the memories, but the chimes compelled him to know. Were they his mother's? Something told him no, but he still had to see for himself.

John felt the muscles of his eyelids flutter, struggling against his command to open, then finally relenting. He managed a crack when radiant light blinded him and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He tried again, pulling them apart a centimeter at a time for his eyes to absorb the light molecule by molecule. That light faded from blinding to gentle. He blinked away the film blurring his vision, and saw the chimes swaying above him. Chimes of metal pipes surrounded by crystals or rocks smoothed and shaped. Dark silver shales of what looked like hematite, liquid purple amethyst, and misty quartz carved into teardrops, long pieces of black obsidian carved into a spiral, more quartz shaped similar and giving John the impression of icicles.

John's favorite were the clear crystals; tear-drop shaped, star shaped, or with no real shape or faceted surface at all, like droplets of water frozen in time. White light flashed off them, and colors danced around John across the ceiling and along the walls. If each color had a sound, white would be the chimes. Blue could be anywhere from the roar of waves to a single water drop. Green the whispering rush of leaves. Yellow the sigh of the wind. Red the roar and snapping of flames. Violet would be perfect, comfortable silence. Black – that could go two ways - chirping crickets, or hollow empty silence, like loneliness.

John was content in musing over what most would deem as unimportant. He felt heavy, as though the bones of his limbs had taken on the consistency of rock. He wanted to drift back to sleep and let his mind wander through the images the chimes produced. But other images were slinking in like nocturnal creatures testing the light, ones that had nothing to do with what the chimes were creating. Fleeting flashes of uncaring faces, lips curled into sneers, and fists flying at him. John frowned, and shuddered. Aches and pains started waking up throughout his body, coinciding with the direction the blows of the memories were aimed.

There wasn't a friendly face throughout the mental barrage, until the old lady's face popped into the mess. Her face had been kind, as had been her touch. John focused on that until his mind settled, then cleared. John inhaled a deep breath but winced when his side cramped. He pulled his hands up to either side of himself, and pushed his leadened frame back against the wall as support to push himself up into a sitting position. His arms shook with the effort, and he had to rest with every two inches he achieved. He kept at it until he was upright enough to get the lay of his surroundings as he slumped against the corner, panting.

It was a small room, with a kind of work desk cluttered with what appeared to be craft projects on one side, and a short, square, black metal stove on the other. The closed door was across from the bed. John turned his head for a look out the window, but couldn't see much except for a solid light gray sky like an overcast winter.

His struggle to sit up had drained him, and he had nothing left to scoot back down beneath the warm covers. He looked down at himself, and twisted his mouth at the large shirt covering him with a collar so wide one side nearly hung down to his elbow. With a shaking hand, John jerked the collar back over his sharp shoulder. He was plenty aware of the fact that he wasn't even one step toward one hundred percent, but he also knew he hadn't gotten _that_ bad off. Who ever owned or had owned this shirt was a big guy – a _really_ big guy.

The door creaked open, it seemed, on it's own accord, and it was enough to get John's body to work up a grain of energy for him to go rigid. A creature, like a small, two-legged dinosaur with folded membranous wings attached to its spindly fore-arms, trotted into the room making clicking, purring sounds. It leaped onto the side of the bed and scurried up, and John's heart leaped into his throat. He shrank away from the creature that started sniffing at him. Once it appeared to have gotten a nose-full of his scent, it started rubbing up against him like a cat, butting its head into his chest, then it's whole body.

John laughed nervously. " Aren't you friendly," he said. He lifted his shaking hand, and the creature immediately butted into it, arching its back to rub its spine under John's palm. John was surprised by the velvet fuzzed skin rather than cool, leathery scales. The creature chirped and purred contentedly until it finally circled then curled itself up in John's lap.

John let out a breath of relief. " Okay. Well at least I know the pets are friendly."

" And incredibly loyal to boot."

John snapped his head up at the voice. The old woman with the silver braid of hair was standing in the door way, watching John with a small smile on her face and mild spark of amusement in her eyes. She was dressed in a large violet skirt that stopped half an inch above the floor, and an off-white knit sweater. Around her neck was a polished blue crystal in the shape of a tear attached to a thin, leather thread. In her hands was a tray carrying a tin cup of something steaming, some bandages, and several small bowls. She entered the rest of the way into the room and set the tray on the table so she could pull up a small stool to the bed side. Her wrinkled finger pointed at the green winged dinosaur.

" Ris liked you from the start, or he wouldn't be curled up against you right now."

John twitched an uneasy smile. " That's a good thing, right?"

The old woman wrinkled her brow in silent perplexity. John shrugged.

" It's been my experience that just because something likes you, that doesn't necessarily make it a good thing."

The woman's brow smoothed and seemed to pull her mouth up in a smirk. " He won't be marking you as his territory if that's what you mean."

John lifted one shoulder that sent the shirt collar sliding down the other shoulder, which he quickly snatched back into place. " Among other things." He took in his surroundings for a second time at a glance, but lingered on the steaming cup for a moment. Something smelled good - food good – and he bet it was coming from that cup. The smell forced him to become aware of the cold hole in his stomach screaming to be filled.

" Hungry?" the woman asked. John's eyes snapped back to her and her knowing smirk. John felt no real trepidation around this apparently kindly old lady, but he wasn't naïve enough to let his guard down that easily, not until he knew the full situation concerning his current predicament. He nodded.

The woman slapped her knees then rose. " Of course you are. But nothing solid for you yet." She began to fuss around John much like Carson would be doing right now. She placed a hand on his shoulder to slowly ease him forward so she could adjust the pillow. She then placed both hands beneath his arms to lift him up a little more until his back was comfortably against the wall with the pillow cushioning his backbone. John felt the usual prickle of irritation over the fussing, but seeing as how he'd just met this woman, kept the desire to gripe to himself.

" Thanks," he said instead.

The woman gave him another smirk then a pat on the shoulder. " No pleasant deal being invalid," she said. " And treated like a child because of it."

John stared at her in surprise. The woman merely winked at him as she reached out to take the cup. " You strike me as the independent type." She held the cup out to him. " Plus my son used to give me the same look when I would fuss about him during illness."

John took the cup into his unsteady hands, and noticed for the first time the bandages around his wrist. The old woman turned to toss more wood into the stove.

" Those were quite a mess," she said. She peered over her shoulder at him. " Actually you were quite the mess from head to foot." She returned her attention to the stove. " My name's Maj, by the way, in case you don't remember. I told you once before but it was while you were suffering from fever so I doubt you retained much memory of that moment."

John took a sip of the tea-brown liquid. It was a little watery, but had a nice, mild, beef-stew flavor. It was warm going down his throat, and snuffed the cold the moment it hit his stomach. " Where am I?" he asked.

Maj stirred the burning wood with a poker. " My home in the village of 443. First wilds settlement in the east."

John choked on his next sip. " Wilds?"

Maj set the poker leaning against the wall and straightened, dusting her hands off onto her skirt. " Wilds, wilderness, beyond the city. The government's attempt at reclaiming this planet." She turned back to John and sat herself on the stool, leaning with one arm on the edge of the bed. " By the alarmed look on your face, I'm assuming you've heard a tale or two about it."

John took another tentative sip. " Just that your government's always looking for new kinds of weapons to give you guys."

Maj shook her head bitterly. " We don't need weapons. We need better parts for that run down heap of an electric generating dam. The thing's been hiccuping for years. It's supposed to get maintenance once a month but we've been having to do it every three weeks. Our electrician practically lives there now. Too far to keep traveling back and forth so often. All I can say is thank goodness for the wood stoves or we'd all never get out of bed in the mornings."

Maj suddenly leaned forward to place her hand on John's forehead. John flinched, but not enough to get even the broth to slosh.

" Sorry," she said. " Forgot the routine check." She sat back. " Although not much point now. Your fever hasn't been back up since it broke the day before yesterday."

John took a longer sip of broth and flicked his tongue nervously over his dry lips. " What happened to me? How did I end up here?"

Maj held up a finger of the hand resting on the bed. " How you ended up here I can answer. I brought you here after witnessing your suicide attempt when saving a young boy from a bunch of thugs. Those thugs would have pounded the life right out of you, but I intervened and brought you here for some proper healing. You don't stand by and let a man get killed for doing the right thing. As for what happened to you – well – most of the wounds you got from the beating. The rest is for you to tell, if you can remember."

John took a lesser sip. The cup wasn't even half-way consumed and he was already starting to feel full. " Well isn't that the million dollar question." Maj raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

" Well, first off... My name is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard..."

Maj's other eyebrow raised to join with the first. " Lieutenant Colonel? But your necklace just said John Sheppard."

John sipped. " Lt. Colonel's my rank from where I come from. It means I get to boss all the rest of the soldiers around... As long as they don't outrank me."

Maj beamed. " Ahhh, so you are a soldier then. I thought as much by the way you took on those brats. I thought to myself 'the man has style, I wonder if he's a solider?'"

John smiled, somewhat shyly. He'd never really been complimented on his fighting style. Praised for improving it from Ronon and Teyla, occasionally told that he was a good soldier, but fighting tended to be a necessary given and not something always freely commented upon (unless one thought he sucked at it.)

" You were quite good," Maj went on. " Probably would have won had you been at your full strength. But you weren't looking so well. From your smell at the time, I'd say you'd taken a little swim in the river."

John grimaced before drinking more broth. " Maybe. I recall being wet, and cold – a lot. I... Uh... I think I was trying to get away from some people."

" Well, you were lucky. Made you sick as an old Lyret, which makes you a fortunate fellow that I found you. I know the herb mixtures for countering the effects of that polluted excuse for liquid. As well as how to rid your skin of the smell."

John's eyes rounded over and his heart thudded. " What?"

Maj's chest jerked in a silent chuckle, but she waved a dismissive hand. " Oh relax, boy, it's all nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, I'm trained in the healing arts and have respect enough not to make comments over another's body, especially a sick body. I'm not a dirty minded old woman, and was a little too preoccupied with your poor condition to start giggling like some immature little girl who likes to keep her mind in the garbage." Maj's face slackened in sobriety, and she rolled her eyes down to the quilted blanket covering John, fingering a loose thread. " I was quite afraid I'd lose you before I got the chance to talk to you." She returned her gray-brown eyes to John, and smiled. " But being a soldier, I suppose it was only natural that you would fight."

John moved the cup back and forth in small circles until a tiny whirlpool was formed. " Comes with the territory."

Maj pointed at the cup. " You finished?"

" Yeah. Sorry I couldn't finished it all."

Maj took the cup and set it on the tray, trading it for a roll of bandages and one of the small bowls. " It's not your fault. I didn't expect you to finish it. You haven't kept anything down for days and your innards aren't too pleased about it. Hold out your hands."

John did as told, and Maj proceeded to unwind the bandages.

" You said you'd been escaping from some people when you dunked yourself into the river?" she asked.

John thought back, and got only flashes of pain and shouting for the effort. " I don't... really recall. The last thing I remember is visiting some friends of a friend of mine. I must have been drugged or something, because the next thing I know, I'm back on Ioth, tied to a chair or something." With a sudden thought, John looked up at Maj. " I'm still on Ioth, right?"

Maj smiled. " Yes. You're still on Ioth. I've done my world hopping for the month."

John looked back down to watch Maj remove the bandages from off his wrists.

" Anyways, I remember getting away, running, then trying to find shelter... It's just..." John wrinkled his brow as he tried to force recalcitrant memories to the surface. " It's kind of hazy right now. I don't even know why the hell I was taken. Except that the last time we were on this planet, we were trying to negotiate a trade. Medicine for the chance to find out why the wraith skip this planet on their buffet run. Your government wanted weapons, but it's my world's policy not to go handing weapons out to everyone we meet."

Maj wadded up the first bandage and set it aside. John's heart sank at the sight of his wrist swollen with bruises, abrasions, and scabs. Maj smeared some sort of green-brown goop onto the cuts.

" Well, it's our government's policy to haggle for things we don't need," Maj said. " Idiots. We could use medicines." The goop applied, Maj set aside the bowl to wrap John's wrist. " What world do you come from? I've traveled all over and I've never seen any with clothes similar to yours."

And here was the real million dollar question, or more like life or death. Maj was a nice lady, but protocol was protocol and even a world untouched by the wraith couldn't be trusted. Although if John could word it just right, then he wouldn't end up having to lie. Really it was nothing more than a matter of refraining from announcing that they resided in the city of the Ancestors.

" We're, uh, kind of new to this galaxy."

Maj looked up briefly. " Oh?"

" Yeah, we're explorers from another galaxy, a galaxy with 'gates... I mean rings... like the ones you travel through. You see, the people you call the Ancestors made a one way trip to our galaxy, which is why we have the ring. On our planet we found a map to your galaxy, plus a way to power the ring to get us here. We took it, and here we are."

Maj finished wrapping the first wrist and moved on to repeat the process with the second. " Huh. Didn't think that kind of travel was possible. Although I never even really considered it before."

John couldn't help hiccuping out a laugh. " Yeah, well, a couple of years ago I didn't even know it was possible to travel from one planet to the next through a big, freakin' ring."

Maj looked up at John, pausing in the motions to unwrap the bandage.

 _Oops._

" You didn't know there was a such a thing as Ancestral rings?"

 _Crap._ John rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. " Well... it's kind of complicated. My planet's still kind of new to the ring travel thing. I mean compared to you guys. You've been using it for thousands of years. We haven't. A lot of the people on my planet get kind of weird when it comes to alien, interplanetary stuff. I mean we've been existing on our own just fine... I guess. And by that I mean we've never needed to go to other planets to get stuff. In terms of survival we have everything we need and then some. So we mostly go through the ring for exploration purposes. Which is what brought us to this galaxy – exploring. We're not a big group of people, only a couple of hundred, but – and please don't take offense to this – barring the wraith we can pretty much kick the asses of everyone else in this galaxy – weapons and technology wise."

Maj didn't look up at John when she spoke. " Your people wouldn't be in a conquering frame of mind, would they?"

John snorted at that. " Oh hell know. As a whole - not counting all the wackos who hope to get abducted by aliens – we're pretty content where we are. Like I said, we're here for strictly exploration purposes. Finding stuff, learning stuff, mostly about the Ancestors – although we call them Ancients."

" Were they your Ancestors too?" Maj asked.

" Yeah, I think so. I mean, it must be since a lot of us are genetically related to them. See, a lot of us have what's called the Ancient gene which makes us kind of, sort of, half or quarter Ancient or something." John nodded. " Ancient related, I guess. Not Ancients, though."

Maj's eyes darted up to John, unreadable, then back down. " I see."

John's heart thudded in sudden unease. " Um, I haven't offended you or anything, have I? I mean most people in this galaxy don't get the whole Ancient gene thing and the rest... they kind of get really upset about it, like we're lying and therefor giving the Ancestors a bad rep."

On finishing the last touches on the bandage, Maj gently set John's hand back on the bed, then looked up at him, catching his gaze and holding it in her own. " No, you did not offend me. And I believe you about this 'gene' thing. I'm quite aware that the Ancestors had gone _somewhere_ when they vanished." Maj stood and placed one hand on John's shoulder to get him to lean forward enough to remove the shirt. The slight difference in temperature made him shiver.

" John, I'm going to be honest with you." She said, unwinding the bandages from around his chest. " I can get you home, but it will require patience. To leave the valley I need a new key card, but one won't be arriving for several weeks at most (hopefully at most and not beyond that)," she added under her breath. " Plenty enough time for you to heal properly and be able to endure the journey. But it also means having to endure the blasted people of this village, and I'd rather you didn't. If you think the city is bad when it comes to strangers, then you haven't seen anything until you've seen how a village reacts to an off-worlder. They tend toward violence, I'm afraid. So for reasons of safety, I've been telling folk that you're my son." Maj sucked in her breath through her teeth and grimaced. " I know, it's lying, but it'll hopefully keep the folk here off your back, so I'd strongly suggest you play along with it."

John smirked. " Yes mom."

Maj flicked him on his good shoulder. " Barely met and already you're getting smart with me."

" Just playing along."

" Yes, well, watch it or I'll play along and give you a good smack to the back of the head. It would also be best if you didn't go wandering the village a lot, especially alone. If you feel the itch to get out and about, it would be best to do it in the company of either me or Gidel – he's my nephew. You'll be meeting him soon enough."

Maj moved back enough to have both hands planted on John's shoulders, and her head ducked to position her eyes directly level with John's. " And _do not_ go wandering through the woods, unarmed or alone. And even armed and accompanied, don't go to the ruins." She went back to removing the wrappings. " We've been experiencing disappearances lately. First tools and weapons, then people foolish enough to go walking into the deep woods without a projectile or another person. We've been wearing away new paths trying to find folk and the cause for their vanishing, but we haven't found hair nor bone of them. The theory is that the brigands have taken to being slippery rather than going with the frontal assaults, though they usually leave some sign of themselves behind. We've petitioned the government but no one's come yet, so we've taken to being extra cautious. Oh, that includes a curfew of no being about after sunset except for group functions in the town square."

John, oddly enough, found himself unaffected by this bit of info. _What's an alien world without horror-movie style mysterious happenings. I knew this place was messed up in more than one way._ Images of men in hockey masks brandishing machetes danced in his head.

Maj applied the goop to John's cuts and abrasions, then applied the fresh bandages around his chest. When she finished, she placed the shirt back over John and moved to the end of the bed to handle his foot. John rubbed the side of his tired face with one hand. Then he yawned wide until his jaw popped. Maj was quicker with John's ankle with there being less to wrap and no cuts to tend to. When done, she covered his bare feet back up, and moved to the work table to take up the second small bowl and hand it over to John.

" It's bitter but it will help with any pain you might be having."

John scrunched his face at a smell like disinfectant and green tea. He gagged on the first sip that burned his tongue with its bitter taste, but forced himself to down the stuff since there wasn't much to swallow anyways. He gagged a few times like a cat trying to lurch up a hairball, swallowed convulsively, and shuddered.

" Oh that was horrible."

Maj removed Ris from off John's lap so John could settle back into the bed. Maj pulled the quilt up to John's shoulders, and lightly patted his shoulder blade. " You rest as long as you need. I'll be back later with more broth should you be ready for it."

Maj took up the tray and headed form the room with Ris following.

" Maj?" John said before sleep pulled him back under.

Maj paused and turned. " Yes John?"

John's eyelids fluttered. " Thanks."

Maj grinned. " You're welcome."

John slid out of consciousness to the rhythm-less music of the chimes, and wandered the places the music brought his mind to.

TBC...


	9. Maj's Home

John snapped his eyes open to a sound that wasn't chiming. Long, low, like the trumpeting moan of some massive beast. Even the distance didn't stop the noise from vibrating in his bones.

 _Alien world, John. Alien beasts._

The howl didn't last long. It rose to the apex then drifted away rather than wind down. John waited, barely breathing, for either an answering call or second attempt. Neither one came. Not even the chimes made noise, or the fire snap. Silence was absolute.

Until he heard a sharp snap that had nothing to do with the fire. The stove was barely glowing with embers. John lifted his heavy head, then struggled to raise his stubborn body upright to lean against the wall. He inched forward, little by little, enough to see out the window. The darkness was like the silence, thick as spilled ink except for the faint serrated outline of the treetops. Nothing to see and nothing left to hear. John eased himself back down onto the bed. He heard another snap, but contributed it to an animal.

SGA

McKay tromped up the blue-carpeted steps leading to the second floor of the inn as an audible representation to what his body was feeling. One did not develop lead feet after excessive hours of trudging through dirty streets at the risk of getting jumped by the dirty inhabitants – one earned them, along with the right to complain about them. Rodney's entire body was one big muscle sore, starting at the feet, spreading, but congregating in the end around his head. It was days like this that made Rodney want to kill Sheppard should they find him alive.

The inn was the equivalent of any cheap roadside motel that could be found on earth, exempting the dirty swimming pool. Although Rodney had to give credit to the motel staff. McKay had witnessed actual laundry being done in a rather 1950s looking laundry room, and the food was palatable. The staff themselves were clean looking, and the 'hop-to-it' type that would do everything and anything to make their guest's stay more comfortable. They also didn't tolerate loitering from the street wanderers. McKay, with Ronon, had caught glimpses of the other temporary lodging establishments – several of which might have actually been brothels. Being on Ioth was like being caught in a dimensional time warp made up of various periods smashed together. Carriages going one way, little cars going the other - if Rodney saw a hippy and a cowboy walking arm and arm down the street, he was going to find a way to sedate himself until this whole nightmare was over.

For the time being, he was content just to crash.

Rodney pulled the metal key card from his pocket on entering the blue-carpeted hall. The room was five doors down, the 'family suite' as Lt. Stewart had called it since the manager had said it was normally used for large groups such as families and off-worlders. Rodney slipped the key card into the electronic lock-box, and the light changed from green to blue. Inside the room were three beds along the wall across from the door, and two on the left. On the right was the door to the bathroom. Teyla, being the only female of the party, and been given her own room next door; the spare room should the family or group be larger than five people, with two extra beds and a connecting door leading to the same bathroom.

Rodney went to his bed, the left hand bed of the three against the wall, and twisted around to drop back-first onto the firm mattress. Obviously, he was the only one in. Ronon, he knew, was getting some food. Teyla, Lorne, and Stewart along with Caul were probably still spreading the word about Sheppard. People usually didn't respond when it came to the question of 'have you seen this man'. But slap in big letters the word 'reward', on the smaller copies of Sheppard's picture, and people get a little more open and a lot more friendly. Anything from weapons to money to medicine was up for grabs. Medical care would be easy enough to pay back, and Rodney actually took down names when it came to that. Ioth currency could be pulled off being that the little metal chips were made of nothing more than nickel. Freakin' nickel! Seems nickel was as rare as gold on Ioth. Rodney had analyzed one of the chips he'd obtained when a kid bought a candy-bar from him. Nickel! Worth five cents on earth, worth fifty bucks on Ioth if it was pure (Rodney's estimate, not an actual figure, but he had seen people buy whole basket loads of groceries for two iron chips, three copper, and one nickel.) If the whole of the Atlantean staff chipped in, then whoever helped them out in getting Shep back was going to be very rich indeed.

The promise of weapons was a front. Yes, it was dishonest making the promise of weapons. Oh, those people would collect, but like with Caul's idiot cousin they wouldn't be getting much except duds. Atlantis did keep promises – to a degree.

Rodney stretched his arms out to either side of himself and arched his back until it pop. With a sigh, he melted into the firm mattress for a moment, then forced himself to remove his boots, tossing them onto the floor when he was done. He dropped back onto the bed and wriggled his freed toes that tingled under the socks from the cool air drying away the sweat. Except it wasn't cool in the room, it was warm, but like his feet knew the difference. The heating unit of the room rattled as it belched out the warm air. Sheppard would have been quite impressed with Rodney's restraint. The physicist wasn't going to gripe about something that most of the Pegasus Galaxy folks didn't have.

Rodney stopped wriggling his toes. He sure as hell wasn't going to complain about something he had that Sheppard very well might not have at this very moment – warmth and shelter. They'd been on this world for three days now and all they had to show for it was a bunch of people sniffing out rewards and thus pointing the 'Lanteans every which way under the sun. 'I saw him go this way, I saw him go over there' blah, blah, blah.

 _I bet if we told them we were looking for pink elephants they would say their grandpa caught one just the other day but it got away. Greedy bastards._

But they had gotten a few good leads. Not exactly fruitful but at least giving them a destination and helping them spread the news further. There were places where street wanderers could go for a meal, places run by those of a charitable and religious nature. No Sheppard found there. There were abandoned buildings many used for shelter – still no Sheppard. But Teyla kept thinking positive in that the more people they spoke with, the more eyes they had to help with the search. Lorne had come up with the idea for the reward, which gave an incentive for searching.

McKay closed his eyes with a weary exhale. Three days was too long not to have anything to show for it.

" Dr. McKay... Do you read?"

The male voice speaking through the piece in Rodney's ear had him bolting upright with a chill of surprise racing down his spine. He'd gotten quite accustomed to – as well as annoyed by – constantly hearing either Ronon's, Teyla's, Lorne's, or Stewart's voice forever breaking into his thoughts. The voice he heard now was nerve-wracking in its familiarity.

" Uh... Y-yes? Yes. Colonel Caldwell?"

" The same. Just letting you know that we arrived and are maintaining position outside of orbit. By the fact that Dr. Weir hasn't told us to turn around I'm assuming Colonel Sheppard hasn't been located yet."

Rodney scooted backward until he was resting against the wall (the beds being earth-like as much as the motel beds on earth without fancy frames or headboards.)

" Not as such, no. But it's a big city so he's bound to be around here somewhere. Either hiding or rescuing old ladies from muggers. We've gotten local cooperation through the promise of rewards, two of which are easy enough to give and the other we have no intention of honoring. I'd like to explain more but I'm tired and Lorne would do better seeing as how it was his idea to begin with."

" I've already spoken to Major Lorne and he did tell me, but communications had to be cut short since he was in a populated area."

Rodney rubbed his aching face with one hand. He knew he was going to regret telling Caldwell this, but better to get things over with now than endure nagging throughout the rest of the night. " Well, I'm not, so..." he sighed. " Feel free to talk all you want."

" I wasn't calling in for a heart to heart chat, Dr. McKay. I was just apprising you of our arrival should anything occur that would require a quick exit. Even now Hermiod has a lock on your com signals. All you need do is say the word and you're all aboard."

Now that was tempting. Spend the night in the safety of an earth-made ship snacking on an MRE, or enduring another night of taking cautious bites of food because 'citrus' really wasn't in these people's vocabulary (actually Rodney suspected it was, but with a whole other meaning, a meaning associated with some unmentionable body part by the way that old cook woman had gasped and her young assistant had giggled). But guilt didn't let Rodney indulge in the thought for long. Even being just outside the atmosphere of the planet would still be like leaving the planet, which would be like leaving Sheppard behind, even if it was just for one night.

Rodney was just going to have to save such a trip for when things got desperate. Besides, the inn wasn't all that bad, it was just the food that had him edgy.

" Well, so far we're fine," Rodney said. " But we'll keep it in mind."

" Good. The offer also includes if the food or water isn't agreeing with you. That's been Dr. Beckett's chief concern."

Rodney sat up a little straighter. " Carson's here?"

" Wouldn't take no for an answer. Gate travel has been suspended except for Teyla's people, and Beckett insists his staff is competent enough to get on without him, so he came. Speaking of which, he'd like to know if there have been any physical problems that he needs to know about and wanted me to ask you. He'd ask you himself but he's asleep at the moment..."

" Fine, fine, we're all fine. Achy, cranky, sore feet and my back is starting to kill me, but other than that we're all peachy. Even the food's been agreeing with us."

" Then I have no more questions. Caldwell out."

A nice succinct conversation, and Rodney was glad for it. He was tired, tired enough to drop off without dinner, but not dumb enough to. Two minutes after his talk with Caldwell, Ronon entered shoving his own key card back into his pocket with one hand and carrying the meal basket with the other. Rodney hated that basket. For one, the woven wood looked wrong being carried by Ronon, and for another it made the situation feel like they were going on a picnic. Ronon set the basket on the middle bed.

" Some meat, some kind of red vegetable, and something resembling your earth rice but black and spicy," he said.

Rodney maneuvered himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Ronon handed him one of the gray ceramic plates stacked on one side of the basket, with the dishes on the other side.

" Spicy I don't mind," Rodney said, " as long as it doesn't come back to haunt me a couple of hours later if you know what I mean."

Ronon grunted. He did indeed know. He set the dishes on the nightstand between the two beds.

" Caldwell contact you?" Ronon asked.

" Yup. We're saved and all that."

Ronon grunted again sounding about as thrilled as Rodney felt. Not that Rodney wasn't grateful to have the Daedalus around, but Caldwell was another matter. Rodney gave it three more days before the Colonel started dropping hints about calling off the search.

" I was thinking," Rodney said as he spooned the black rice onto his plate. " What if... Sheppard isn't in the city anymore? What if he's out in the wilds, maybe at one of those frontier settlements?"

Ronon dropped onto his own bed to start dishing up his own food. " I asked Caul that yesterday. He said Sheppard wouldn't be able to get to any of them unless he had a key card or if someone took him."

Rodney picked up a chunk of grilled meat with his two-pronged fork. " Well what if someone did take him? What if these frontier people are in to slaves and took him as a slave? Or, maybe, he's wandered beyond the city. Caul said there was a forest between the city and the mountains."

Ronon didn't bother using a fork. He just picked up a chunk of meat with his hands and started eating. " You suggesting we look there?"

Rodney shrugged as he picked at the meat with the fork. " I'm suggesting we give it a shot at some point in time."

" We won't find him," Ronon stated before tearing another chunk out of the meat. Rodney let his fork drop onto the plate with a loud clatter.

" And you know this because...?" Rodney wagged his hand to get Ronon to hurry it up with the reply.

" Because he's not stupid. Whatever state he's in, even delirious, he'll know to seek out the gate. It'll be an instinct with him. He'll stick around here, either wandering or asking everyone which way to the ring. And if he's too sick or hurt for even that much, he'll still be around. He wouldn't be able to travel too far for too long. He'd find shelter."

Rodney wanted to argue but already knew it was moot. If the Satedan was right, it wouldn't be the first time. The whole warrior think-alike mindset was something Rodney was gradually – albeit grudgingly – starting to see as being something that might actually hold some sort of psychological merit. Sheppard's and Ronon's differences were day and night until it came to survival. It was so simplistic, the rules of survival – food, shelter, protection. But the means of obtaining those three simple necessities were complicated and diverse; a practical art. An art Rodney had been given a taste of from those missions that had left the team stranded. It was always Sheppard and Ronon heading the fight for survival, and always them finding the ways against all odds of achieving it. They never talked about it except to give instructions, they just did it.

So if Ronon said Sheppard was sticking around the city, then he was.

" We shouldn't discount it, though," Ronon said, breaking Rodney's wandering train of thought.

" Huh?"

Ronon made circular gestures with a strip of meat. " Sheppard heading to the wilds. We should consider it, check out the outskirts and any roads leading away. The weather's cold, dry. If Sheppard left any tracks then they'll be easy to find."

Rodney nodded, feeling slightly hopeful and a little smug that Ronon hadn't dismissed the suggestion for checking out the woods.

" We also need to find a way into the nearby settlements," Ronon said next. " You could be right about him being taken."

Rodney's feeling of pride swelled a little fatter. Only to promptly deflate. " Except... Caul said the settlers are worse when it comes to off-worlders than the city people."

Ronon shrugged indifferently. " So we be worse back." He finished off the meat strip in one bite.

SGA

John lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and contemplating uncomfortable matters. Maj had undressed him to redress him, and confessed to dunking him in cold water a few times when the fever was bad. So it was logical to conclude that she must have helped him with other _personal_ matters. Or more precisely one particular matter that John needed relief from at this moment. Chances were, some sort of basin might have been used, and Maj's nephew had been present rather than Maj (as if that made it any better). She had said that she had needed her nephew's help in moving John when he needed to be moved.

" You might be skinny, but that doesn't make you a light-weight," she had said. " Except to Gidel, no offense."

Neither Maj nor Gidel were present now, and Sheppard needed to go. He saw nothing that passed as a basin on the floor, which added to his discomfort. Although, it could have been that his fever was so high that he never had liquid in him enough to go to the bathroom to begin with. He went with that, since all other possibilities weren't sitting too well with him.

Ris was in the room, watching John intently as though he were the most wonderful thing in the world. The wingged dino was even wagging its tail. John gave the creature a thoughtful look.

" Don't suppose you could fetch Maj for me?" He was pretty certain he could go to the bathroom on his own. It was getting out of bed he was having a problem with.

Ris made an inquisitive chirping sound, but didn't move. John sighed and threw up his hands in defeat.

" Fine, be that way." He scooted back to slide his upper body along the wall as support. " See if I care," he grunted. When he was upright, he waited a moment to catch his breath, then gritted his teeth as he moved his legs out from beneath the covers. Ris started bobbing his head up and down, chirping. John's arms shook as they supported him, but not as much as his legs when he started hauling himself up by grabbing onto the work table. He leaned against the table with knees locked, then started moving along its edge toward the door. Ris pranced in circles, then trotted out into the middle of the hall where it stopped, turned, and chirped. John's own little lizard cheerleader.

" Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," John said. When he came to the end of the table, he lurched toward the door, stumbling until he caught the frame.

" So this is what it was like to learn how to walk," John mumbled. He reached out to the other side of the door frame and held on as he moved over. On heading out, he kept his shoulder to the wall and slid along it with small, testing steps. Fortunately, all the doors were closed so he didn't have to make any leaps across open thresholds. The only door open was the one he knew had to be his destination. Didn't matter the planet, you don't keep bathroom doors shut unless they're in use.

He reached the door, and held onto the frame when entering. He chuckled softly.

The bathroom was small, with a round metal tub against the far wall that could be closed off by a curtain made of a glossy but woven faded orange cloth, the sink on the right, and the toilet on John's left. Like with everything else on Ioth, the toilet had an old fashion look to it, with a round bowl and the flusher a chain rather than a handle.

John took care of business without shutting the door. He washed his hands and headed out with the initial intent of getting back to bed. Except he didn't want to. His legs shook and his breathing was heavy, but it still felt indescribably good being able to move around. Plus he was curious as to where Maj had gone off to.

If Maj was anyone like Carson, she wasn't going to like what John was about to do. He headed down the hall far enough to get to the stairs with Ris trotting curiously behind. From where John stood, on his unsteady legs, it was a lot of steps to take. He'd never once blinked an eye at any form of heights, but now his heart was skipping with intensifying uncertainty.

 _Stairs, John, just stupid stairs. Think of 'em as a challenge. If you can handle these suckers, you can handle anything._

" Unless I break my neck," John countered. But he had a stubborn streak to maintain, and he wasn't going to let a stupid flight of stairs get in his way. So he gripped the banister like it was a rope in a game of tug-o-war, leaning back a little as he took each step one at a time. A step creaked, and John winced, but no one stepped into view to find the source of the sound. The going was so painfully slow that John's nerves itched. He attempted to pick up the pace, had his leg buckle, and had to catch the rail to keep from falling. By the time he reached the last step, sweat was pouring down his flanks, his breath was fast and shallow, and he was trembling. But he'd made it, and felt it an accomplishment worthy to smile about. He turned his head to look up at Ris at the top of the stairs.

" That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Ris wagged his tail and chirped.

John looked back, dropped his smile, and exhaled a shaky breath. " All right. _Now_ I need to sit down." He took several unsteady steps forward until he was forced to stumble into the front door or fall on his face. He moved from the door into what he guessed to be the living room, and a somewhat large one at that, taking up the length of the house on that side. It was comfortable looking, with a couch of woven branches and green cushions on the right under a large window, another couch of the same make against the wall under the stairs, a stone fireplace where a pair of very twisty antlers hung with black and white pictures below it on the mantle, and on the left was another window and a small table with some sort of game on top – like chess but with more pieces.

The floorboards were smooth and polished to a glass shine. On the log walls hung paintings of Ioth scenery and what had to be Ioth creatures, plus more black and white photos. John peered in closely at one of the photos by the window. He identified Maj right off, even though she had to be twenty years younger, and beside her, standing in front of the log house, was a young man slightly taller than Maj, with dark wispy hair that stuck up in places. Under his foot was the carcass of an animal, like an antelope the size of an ox with twisty antlers. John smiled. Hunting triumph.

John continued his shuffle to the couch and dropped his knees onto the cushions so he could lean forward for a peek out the window. The panes where his hands were planted fogged up, as did the pane where his breath struck. He saw, to the right, what had to be a barn by the size and the huge doors. Across from Maj's house though not directly was another log house, then another immediately next door to that one. Between Maj's house and the next was something that made John double-take – a telephone pole, or something like it, but with a single wire going from the house across the way to the pole, then onto Maj's house. He recalled Maj having mentioned something about a hydro-electric dam in the area.

It was like being at the Grizzly Adam's commercial camp-site – or commune. The log cabins, with their identical builds of sanded wood and some kind of gray pitch between the chinks – had more of a mass produced feel than something done by the settlers' own two hands. Good incentive for people to come out here – open space and ready made houses. Although it must have been short live since the government had to start forcefully booting people to these places.

Or, on a more darker thread of thought, settlers were dying off by the truck load and needed to be replaced. Sounded about right either way John looked at it. Maj would have to clear the situation up a bit for him.

A small wagon pulled by a brown six-legged lizard clattered over the pact dirt road to move around into the barn. Two men dressed in heavy, fur-lined coats walked casually out from behind the barn, only to vanish between the two houses. A woman in heavy skirts and a furred coat left the house across from Maj's. She glanced in the direction of Maj's home, and must have spotted John because she picked up her pace to move out of sight behind the barn. John winced. Maj was going to be pissed. She hadn't wanted anyone to see him.

Like a kid caught in the wrong, John's instincts screamed at him to get back upstairs. But just the thought of taking those steps again made his body go suddenly lethargic. His little bout of adrenaline had left him, and he was drained. A small rest was in order, then he would try the stairs.

John lowered himself onto the soft, even cushions of the couch, curling into them with the intent of a quick nap. Ris hopped up beside him, circling until the creature curled itself against John's chest, providing a little bit of warmth. John was cold, should have brought a blanket, but too little too late. The moment he closed his eyes, he was out, and forgot all about being cold.

SGA

Maj stomped the dust off her boots on her front porch before entering her house. She didn't abide tracking dirt into her home. She was too old to clean every nook and cranny on a daily basis. When she felt the stomping sufficient, she entered the log house and headed left into the kitchen to set down her food-heavy basket on the table. With a groan, she lowered herself into the old carved chair to remove her boots. It was the simple pleasures that made her day, such as freeing her feet from the heated confines of her boots. She spread her toes, then grabbed brown-hide slippers from under the table and placed them on to keep her feet warm.

" Back to your feet, Maj," she said, and pushed herself up. She started humming as she put away the various food items in her basket. Dried foods in the cupboard, meats in the electrically cooled ice-box, and vegetables in the sink to wash. There was to be more meat stew tonight since it tended to involve most of the foods a body needed. But before she started on it, she had a patient to check.

Maj headed toward the stairs, only to stop with one foot on the first step on catching a small twitch of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to face her living room, and stared at John curled up on her couch asleep, Ris with him. Maj put one hand on her hip and shook her head.

" Why you slippery little..."

She chuckled as she continued up the stairs to fetch the quilt off the bed. When she returned, she draped it over John and noticed a mark difference when the muscles of his face eased away the tension lines. Maj shook her head again.

" Silly man. You're fortunate you didn't give out on the stairs and break your neck." She tucked the blanket around John, and Ris poked his small head out to rest it on John's arm. Maj took a step back to eye her handiwork. John was still pale to make the smudges under his eyes and fading bruises darker than they probably really were. But the fact that he had made it downstairs in one piece was the sign of improvement Maj had been hoping to see.

Maj went back into the kitchen and rummaged through her cupboards and pantry for the items needed to make mash. It was a gentle cereal that would be kind on John's deprived digestive system, but solid enough to give his body more nutrients than broth. Normally she wouldn't have jumped to mash until after a few more days on the broth, but if John was going to be insistent about moving around on his own then he was going to need something that would provide him with more energy. She didn't want him losing the little meat he had left on his bones.

Maj combined the mash ingredients into a small pot on the stove and stirred it as it simmered. She added bits of herbs to give it a sweet flavor, and some Niet milk to help strengthen bones. The mash took a while to thicken, which was why she normally didn't make it all that often. She hummed as it boiled and popped.

When one lived a long time alone, one became more sharply attuned to the small changes in their surroundings, from a moved item to the shift in the air caused by the movement of someone else. The soft, near-inaudible creak of a floorboard only confirmed what Maj suspected, and she shifted her position just enough to have John in view out of the corner of her eye without looking directly at him.

John was just outside the kitchen door with one hand against the door-frame for support and the other keeping the quilt around his shoulders. He was wearing that wary look of one contemplating whether or not they could sneak away without being noticed. It was a look she'd caught on Fiel plenty of times to distinguish it for what it was. When it had come to hunting, Fiel never could take no for an answer. It had nearly been the death of him and his father when he'd gotten lost in a blizzard.

Maj grinned. " Might as well come in and sit down before you fall down."

John didn't react with surprise. Instead, he smiled, and shuffled into the kitchen to sit himself down at the table. The blanket slid part way down his arms, and one side of the shirt with it to expose his collarbone and part of the bandages around his chest. Now that John wasn't a risk for spreading any type of disease, Maj was going to have to find him a better shirt, or simply buckle down and mend his. Gidel's old work shirt was giving John a deceptively frail appearance that didn't suit him, even if he was still on the mend.

John adjusted the shirt back onto his shoulder but didn't bother with the blanket. " I got a friend, a doctor – healer – who could use a skill like yours."

" You mean I'm not the only one you don't listen to when it comes to matters of health?"

John rested one arm on the table. " Nope."

" Well that's not very grateful of you," Maj said by way of teasing, but John's expression sobered and he glanced down.

" No, I guess it's not. But I get restless when I lay around too long, bored, and in the case of today desperate." he grimaced slightly. " I really, _really_ had to go."

Maj nodded. " Well, that I can understand. Your little trip downstairs I assume is from being restless?"

John began tapping his finger-tips on the table-top in a way that no sound was produced. " A little. But it was mostly from curiosity getting the better of me."

The mash had thickened. Maj tapped the spoon on the rim of the pot then laid it next to the pot to fetch the bowls from the cupboard beside the sink. " Curiosity's a fine thing as long as you don't give it all the leeway while refusing to acknowledge common sense." She brought two bowls to the stove and spooned the mash in. When she turned with the full bowls in hand, it was in time to catch John's shrug.

" I'm normally only curious when the situation calls for it. I wanted to see your house and something else besides trees from the window."

Maj set one ceramic blue bowl in front of John and her own she set at the other end of the table. Next came drinks of fresh juice from the pitcher in the ice-box, and two ceramic mugs from the cupboard next to it. " Soldier mindset, I take it?"

" A little." Then he smirked. " Plus I was bored."

Maj shook her head with the corner of her mouth quirking upward as she set the mugs down on the table and filled them. " Tell me, Mr. Sheppard. Are you this incorrigible on your own world?"

" I wouldn't say incorrigible, but I do know how to annoy the right people at the right time."

Maj slid the mug of juice down to John, and he caught it with a grin. " And only those who deserve it."

Maj grabbed two spoons from the drawer and sat, stretching forward to hand a spoon to John, and taking note of the small tremor in his hand when he took it.

" Am I one of those who deserves it?" she asked.

John stirred his mash with his spoon. " Well, I haven't known you for very long, but I can already say no. Normally the ones who deserve it are petulant scientists with superiority complexes."

Maj chuckled softly. " Ah, I see." She then pointed her spoon at John. " But let me make this clear to you, young man. You still don't have much strength. I already took you for the type who doesn't liked to be fussed over, but I will not have you wandering the house alone until your strength has increased a few notches. If you wish to move about that's fine, but either to the wash-room and back or accompanied by either myself or Gidel. Never alone."

John gathered some mash onto the tip of his spoon and nodded before taking a bite. " This is good," he said. " Kind of like cinnamon oatmeal."

" Well, I don't know what cinnamon oatmeal is, but I'll still take it as a compliment. Eat as much as you can. It'll give you energy. Then I need to check on your wounds..."

There was a series of muffled thumps coming from behind Maj. She shot a casual glance over her shoulder through the door window to see Gidel stomping his boots clean. The door creaked open and Gidel strode in, rolling his shoulders free of the cold-induced stiffness.

" Gidel, there you are," she said. " I made some mash, so feel free to spoon yourself up some." She looked at John. " John this is my nephew Gidel. He's already met you... in a way."

John lifted his hand in a small wave. " Hey."

Gidel gave John a silent, nonchalant nod in reply, then quickly moved his focus back to Maj. " You'd better get him back up to the room, quick," he said. Maj went rigid, dropping her spoon into the bowl.

" What? Why?"

" Members of the committee are coming."

Maj sagged and rolled her eyes. Irritation peppered her skin like hot needles. " Oh, well that's just lovely. Someone must have seen him through the window."

The color drained from John's face, leaving him white as a corpse. " Oh, crap, sorry. I didn't think anyone would notice that easily."

Maj shook her head and stood. " It's all right, John. It's just that people around here tend to get beyond nosy. Someone saw you in the window, told, and now the committee thinks you're well. Well, we're just going to have to correct them of that assumption. Gidel, help me get John back upstairs."

Gidel moved around the table and took John's arm. John wasn't even given the chance to rise when there came a knock at the door. Maj's shoulders slumped again and she sighed heavily. " All right then. Guess you'll just have to stay where you are. And try not to make any noise."

TBC...


	10. Life in the Wilds

John and Gidel did a brief musical chairs deal by shifting seats, with John moving one seat over and Gidel taking the now unoccupied chair. John took small bites of his cooling mash as he listened to the tense conversation beyond the kitchen.

" Yes he's awake, yes he's on the mend, but it's still my say when you can speak to him and as of the moment I'd rather you didn't."

John paused guiltily before his next bite.

" A few simple questions Maj, that's all. Wouldn't it be better just to get this all out of the way sooner than later?" came the reply of an uneasy male's voice. " We only wish to know where he has been, his occupation, and his future plans."

John looked to the big man Gidel. Gidel, however, kept his eyes toward the front entrance, seemingly with bored interest by the slack look on his face, but John had the feeling that Gidel's attention was exceedingly focused. John shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Carson was right about him. He didn't bloody well ever listen to the people who knew better. He hadn't thought anything about taking a peek out the window. Apparently, this village was the kind of place where one probably had to be cautious just in the way they sneezed.

" And my acting as mediator wasn't good enough? I told you he had no intentions of staying. He wants to go back to his own world. His occupation is as a soldier on that world, a protector, which is also how he became injured. If that's all you need to know then there you have it. His life's story in a culk shell."

" He needs to be the one to answer," said a persistent female with a smug tenor to her voice, " to assess his character. You know this, Maj."

" Then all the more reason to wait. The boy isn't up to being himself at the moment and your presence making him nervous would only condemn him. Wait until he's more healthy, then you'll have a more accurate _character_ to base your judgments on."

The voices multiplied to argue, with Maj's rising above them all like a tidal wave.

" I said not now and I mean not now so just be patient! You can make your assurances all you want, but I will not risk his health with the stress I know you'll put him under so..." The rest became lost when Maj took the argument outside, shutting the door behind her. John stared into his bowl, making swirling designs in the mush that melted away when it congealed.

" Sorry," he muttered. This was the first time in his life that he felt like a burden, and to him it was a hell of a lot worse than being simply useless.

Gidel's upper body jerked in silent, breathy laughter. " Don't be. Maj lives for this kind of confrontation. The committee used to give my cousin Fiel a hard time for all his hunting. Thought his wandering out into the deep wilds would attract beasts of the likes never heard of before. But when the winters got bad, it was always Maj's door they were knocking on ready to barter for a little chunk off Fiel's kill. Even now they still come knocking – my door now. I normally hunt for the skins but that meat really does come in handy. At any rate, the committee has always had it share of hypocrites and paranoids. Nothing but these days."

Gidel's words didn't exactly banish the guilt, but they were amusing to hear.

Gidel turned around in his seat to face John. " They're not all bad folk here." He lifted his thick hand to display two meaty fingers. " You see, you've got two modes of existence here – the settler, and the settled. Not always easy to tell apart unless you know what to look for. The settler is one who'll forever cling to feeling as though they've been forced to survive here against their will, whether booted out here by the government or born here. They don't just hold to the mindset of the city, they clutch it like a life-line. Fear of off-worlders, fear of the unknown – they've been forced to live out here, and have no intentions of dying out here. So, yeah, they're paranoid, worse than the folks in the city since all the city folk have to contend with is eachother. Out here," Gidel slapped the table with his palm, making John jump, " you get a lot of surprises. The settlers'll only raise animals provided by the city, and grow crops from seeds bought in the city. They won't go for eating anything wild until they're blasted near starving."

" Now, the settled – me and aunt Maj and a few others – we haven't really accepted the prospect that we're stuck out here, but we've excepted the fact that we have to live her. What I mean by that is we rely on the city for a few things – like access to the ring – but we depend mostly on ourselves and eachother. If the city were to crumble tomorrow, it'd be no skin off our teeth. We'd keep on existing as we've always had. But we tend to be a few lot, and the settlers have more say in matters. Bit of a pain, really. Means too much government interference than we'd like. Even now some government lackey is supposed to be hustling his way here to head the 'official investigation' they call it, of the disappearances. Maj tell you about those?"

John nodded, pushing his bowl aside to fold his hands on the table-top. " Yeah she did. Pretty freaky, especially after hearing that howl last night."

Gidel snapped his fingers and pointed at John. " You heard it too, then. You've got good ears, and a good head since you didn't ignore it. Most folk are too wrapped up in blaming it all on the brigands. Easier to handle them than some unknown wild animal."

" But Maj said the brigands usually leave behind signs of themselves, and they haven't," John said.

Gidel's lips pursed in a straight line. " Right you are. The brigands are like beasts, like to mark their territory by branding their mark on trees. But me and my hunting partners have been all over these woods even to the ruins and haven't spotted one new mark since last winter. We're always gouging any marks we come across, you see, so the fresh ones can tell us if the brigands are about. But no marks, and even stranger, no remains. Not even any tracks, and that's down right blood-freezing."

John narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. " Have you searched the ruins?"

Gidel eased back in his chair and waved a dismissive hand. " Oh no. No way in 'em. The entrance is sealed by a mountain of rubble." Then he shrugged, narrowing his own eyes. " Although, if there were some other way to enter... but we've yet to find any. Buddy of mine has a theory that whatever it is, it can fly. But here's the thing," Gidel leaned forward with both arms on his knees. " If it were something with wings, it'd have to be bigger than an iaret, and something that big doesn't heave their wings down and not leave a patch of bare ground to show for it. When iarets land or take off, the wind created by their wings always blows away ground debris, leaving a bald spot as it were, and we haven't found any such signs in the areas where the people vanished. So whatever it is making folk vanish, it doesn't have wings, doesn't leave tracks (so could be some kind of tree dweller), and devours its prey bones and all. It's got people extra spooked." Gidel sat back in his chair causing it to creak under his heavy frame. " We even got a few starting to point fingers." He shook his head. " It's getting bad. Real bad."

John smiled tightly, and a little nervously. " Of course it is." _And aren't I just the lucky bastard to get here just in time to be the scapegoat._ Maj had said that his timing – coming after the fact – would definitely keep him from being suspect, but somehow John doubted that. People tended to get stupid when they got scared – stupid and yet clever about that stupidity. Should these people get desperate enough, they'd find a way to start placing the blame on those who should have been blatantly blameless. It was a naive form of sacrifice to pay for a few moments peace of mind.

The door swung open on whiny hinges and Maj hurried in, slamming it shut behind her. She seemed slightly harried, but it melted from her as soon as she entered the kitchen.

" You done with your mash then?" she asked John. He nodded and she took the bowl to place it in the sink. " Then back upstairs with you. We need to change the bandages and apply more of the pulp. Gidel, could you be a dear and help?"

Gidel rose and took John's arm as support for John to get back on his feet. John pointed a shaky finger toward the front door. " Sorry about the trouble."

Maj took John's other arm, and aunt and nephew kept him upright as they headed out the kitchen and up the stairs. " It's no trouble, John. So don't worry yourself about it. You get better, let them have their questions, then they'll lay off long enough for my pass to come so we can get you home."

John's legs trembled as though threatening him that they would give out if he didn't sit down soon. On reaching the top of the stairs, they finally buckled, and Maj and Gidel were forced to handle the majority of John's weight.

Maj tsked. " Too much excitement for one day." Once they got him back into bed, Maj left to fetch her needed materials, leaving John with Gidel.

John watched her go, sinking back into his discomfort. " You know, I don't know how I'd be able to repay you guys for this..."

Gidel, leaning the small of his back against the work table, shrugged. " This is mostly aunt Maj's doing and she never expects repayment."

That didn't make John feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. " Why'd she do it, then? Save me, I mean. She didn't even know me. I could have been some kind of... I don't know – serial killer or something. I know most people are generally good-hearted but they aren't quick with the good Samaritan act unless they know what they're getting into."

Gidel squinted at him. " Sa-mary-tun?"

John shook his head. " Good deed doing. Stopping by the side of the road to help the hurt guy. I'm grateful beyond ever being able to pay you guys back, but can't get over that she would just up and help me like that, especially on this world. No offense, but your people are kind of the antithesis of the welcoming committee. Until your aunt came, I had two choices – get to the gate or die. I couldn't even get anyone to give me damn directions, then out of the blue here comes your aunt and I'm saved."

Gidel nodded. " It's her way... Well," he shrugged, " more the way of our family. We've been world travelers for generations. I wasn't even born on this world. Conceived here, but not born. In fact it's Maj's belief that somewhere down the family road we didn't even originate on this world. Taking to traveling through the ring has kept us plenty open minded, you might say. For aunt Maj, it's more like a sixth sense concerning people. But you were easy. She witnessed you helping someone, and that was enough for her. You don't see that much on this world, and she wasn't going to stand by and let you get killed for doing the right thing. She's done it before – helping folks. Not on this world, though. She's of the kind that refuses to stand by while others are being hurt. She's always been that way, but it's gotten a bit bigger since Fiel's death. She practically looks for it now, just for a chance to intercede."

John looked over and up at Gidel. " If you don't mind my asking, how did her son die?"

" Off world, from an injury. I wasn't there, and Maj doesn't like to talk about it much. You could ask her, but I doubt she'd tell you."

John looked away, back to his hands. " Oh." He had no intentions of asking Maj. His own tight-lipped nature would make it hypocritical of him.

Maj returned with her tray of bandages and bowls of concoction. Had Rodney been present for this, he would have started seeing Carson as a fellow doctor rather than a practitioner of the dark healing arts. Not that Maj gave John the impression of a back-woods witch – more like a physician turned vegan hippy with her medicinal herbs. Although he'd take herbs any day over whatever passed as medicine in the Iothian capital.

Gidel left to make space in the tiny room. Maj slipped the over-sized shirt from John, crumpled it, and let it drop to the floor.

" Next time you feel the need to move about," She said as she began unwinding the bandages, " might I suggest making a route to the washroom. Not to insult you, but you could use a good scrub."

When she finished replacing bandages and pulp, she gave him a new shirt to wear, one with a collar that didn't keep trying to slip down his shoulder, though it still went well below his collarbones.

" You're such a slender one," She said, adjusting the blankets up to his chest. " Most of the male population around these parts tend to be more thickly built in the upper body."

John shrugged. " I do a lot more running than lifting," he said.

Maj tucked the blanket around him. " And you're tall – stretched. You'll be nothing but lean all your life. But you could still stand to get some more flesh back on you. You've got far too much bone trying to poke through your skin than what's considered healthy."

John didn't reply, just smiled. He wasn't sure why, but he found Maj's fussing more tolerable than Carson's. Most likely because it was just the two of them, with no mouthy physicist trying to squeeze in his condescending comments. John knew Rodney always meant well; but when ill, invalid, weak, and embarrassed about it, less than flattering remarks weren't conducive to helping John's state of mind. And he was pretty sure the stress they caused didn't aid in the healing process any either.

Maj's matter-of-fact tone was neither condescending, heavy with warning, or sopping with pity. She was telling it like it was, and as though it were no big deal, which it wasn't. Strength could be regained, and he was already taking a walk down that road.

After Maj finished her fussing, she went to the stove and picked up the poker to stir the embers. John saw small tongues of flame spiral up to lick the air surrounded by flecks of bright orange and dead-gray ash. Maj tossed in logs one at a time until those glowing tongues latched on, writhing and flickering, filling the room with warmth and the smokey-sweet scent of burning wood. Maj clapped her hands to rid them of the wood-dust, then closed the grate on the stove. She ordered John to get some rest, gathered the bowls and old bandages, and left, balancing the tray in one hand so she could click off the light with the other.

John slid his arms beneath the covers to pull them up to his neck. He stared at the bright , rumpled square of light cast down by the window onto his covered body. He wasn't thinking, just listening to the small bell-chiming of a single chime until it lulled him to sleep. When he got home, he would have to talk Carson into investing in some wind chimes. Far more superior than sedatives.

John took Maj's advice. The next day, rather than risking his neck for another trip downstairs, he went into the washroom, and stood staring at the large, round metal tub until he believed he had it figured out. Not much different from an earth tub with two knobs and a curved spigot where the water came out. No shower for him, just a bath. But the warm water felt good when he emerged himself into it up to his neck after pulling the curtain closed for privacy. On a dish hooked to the tub was what appeared to be a green bar of soap. He stared at it, contemplating whether it would be worth scrubbing his bony, bruised, cut-up body with something he imagined would be coarse as sandpaper and slightly acidic. When he grabbed the soap, the smooth, velvety texture of it surprised him, as did the flowery but not too flowery scent.

John took the cloth that had been present hanging on the rim of the tub (courtesy of Maj, he was sure), and rubbed the soap into the cloth until the cloth foamed with suds. He scrubbed himself down, lightly around the ribs, ankle, and cuts, then lathered up his hands to wash his hair since he had yet to see anything resembling some kind of shampoo. He scrubbed his head with more zeal than he had his body until soap dripped down his face and he was fairly confident any insect that might be crawling around his scalp obtained during his stay in the city was dead. He submerged his head into the water and shook his head back and forth to get the soap out. He dunked three times until soap stopped dripping into his eyes.

He was finished, and on completing the bath by rinsing out the cloth and setting it on the rim, peered around the curtain to make sure he was alone. He found it almost laughable that he was starting to take precautions now after being spooked nearly clean out of his skin from either Carson or Rodney waiting outside the infirmary shower with his clothes. The washroom was empty, but there was a set of neatly folded clean clothes sitting on the toilet lid. Maj was really starting to give Carson a run for his money.

There was also a towel hanging on the rod by the toilet. John hadn't even thought about finding a towel, being too preoccupied with how the tub worked. He yanked back the curtains, pulled the drain plug chain with his toes, and slid from the tub onto the cold tiled floor. He dried quickly starting with his hair and working down. The clothes consisted of another broad-collared shirt, pants with a leather string to tighten around his waist, and to John's pleasant surprise, his now clean boxer shorts. He pulled on the shorts, then the pants, but left the shirt on the toilet. He turned to the sink where a small box sat on the edge. Inside was a razor blade, almost earth-like in appearance, but with a carved bone handle like ivory rather than cheap plastic. Also within the box were replacement blades and a small dark stone like a whet stone. Obviously, these blades weren't meant to be chucked the moment they started to dull. Waste not, want not out here.

John used to the green soap to lather his face, and took his cautious time in passing the blade over his face, and especially down his throat. The blade cut close, and the soap must have been heavy on the moisturizer because his skin didn't sting. He splashed the soap off and straightened for a good look at himself from the face down.

The Ioth razor did a better job than his electric razor. John's eyes roved over the rest of himself – his pale, bruised, scrawny self. Not too bad in retrospect. He'd been through worse involving complete emaciation. But that was just him thinking positively. In truth, what he saw made him uncomfortable. Such physical states always did. The visibility of his ribs extended from spine to sternum, his collarbones from shoulders to sternum. But it wasn't as though he were some skeletal stick man, with toothpick arms and legs. Muscles still had a presence, more noticeably in his arms. Nothing spectacular, and though he knew he'd never be as bulgy as Ronon (not that he wanted to), they still needed plenty of increase. He'd gone from wiry to stringy, and needed to get back to wiry.

John finally finished dressing, pulling the large, gray brown shirt over his head. He frowned as he looked down at himself. The shirt still didn't cut it in hiding his skinny frame. It hung off him like an old rag on a scarecrow, and the collar still sagged below his collarbones. But at least he was clean now, no longer being assaulted by the sour scent of his own sweat. Being clean was like finding a candy-bar; a simple, momentary pleasure that could never stop being enjoyed each time around. It gave John a more energized feeling, and he was able to head back to the guest room without his legs trying to give out.

Maj was waiting for him, leaning against the table with the tray of bandages and concoctions beside her, and grinning.

" A very nice improvement," she said. " My nose thanks you."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Two more days of moving around did the trick. John was able to extend from bathroom trips to more trips downstairs, wandering the house that was devoid much of the time of Maj as she was usually always outside running errands or doing chores. Ris had taken to following John around more than Maj, as though John were the pet, a new pet, that Ris couldn't get enough of. John gave it a few more days before the little winged lizard finally lost interest.

Exploring the house made for a good distraction for only so long. It wasn't big, and there were certain rooms John felt obligated not to enter. Maj's room, and the room at the other end of the hall. Maj's room was a given. The room at the end of the hall just _felt_ as though it needed to be left alone. John had seen Maj enter it a few times, and when she came back out, her face was always wet.

John had studied the pictures on the walls of the living room enough times to have them memorized. Pictures of Maj and her son, her husband and son, and other people that might have been siblings or friends. He wandered the kitchen, looking into the cupboard, pantry, and ice-box until he knew what was where. The stove and sink were easy to figure out, like earth stoves and sinks, but a heck of a lot less sophisticated. The stove, like any earth-based electric stove, used electricity to heat coils.

John now knew the house from top to bottom, which gave room for boredom to start creeping up on him. Also in the kitchen was a narrow closet stuffed with fur-lined skin coats, like buckskin only thicker and soft, with silk-like gray material on the inside. John took a dark tan coat, and the material slid easily over his arms. The coat was heavy, and gave the illusion of a little more bulk to his skinny body. He only had the coat on for about five seconds when he already started to sweat. He found boots – and of all things _his_ boots – in the closet as well and slipped them onto his bare feet. Ris watched with twitchy curiosity, and chirped.

John gave the iaret a momentary glance. " It's not like I'm going for a walk or anything. Just a step out the back door for a little fresh air, then a step back in." In truth, he wanted to go out to test the heat retaining capabilities of the coat. He tied off the laces to his boots, stood, and headed to the back door. He peered through the window, saw no one around, so grabbed the handle and pulled. Cold, nipping air puffed in his face and against his hand, brushing his neck in an attempt to slide down the fur-lined collar. It seeped through the loose material of his trousers, but the rest of his body was completely off limits because of the coat.

John inhaled a slow, deep breath through his nose to keep the cold from stinging his lungs, and exhaled sharply through his mouth. He stepped out onto the small wooden porch, and shut the door behind him to lean back against it, sticking his gradually numbing hands into the pockets of the coat. Maj's backyard was nothing fancy in this weather, though she seemed the type of woman who would have a mess of flowers and vegetables sprouting up all over the place in spring. On the left and a little ways from the house, closer to the woods, were rectangular patches of plant stubble fenced off by something like chicken wire – Maj's gardens, five in all. On either side of the small wooden porch were the dried carcasses of flowers going to dust and fertilizer for next spring's plants. Across from the porch was Maj's wood pile and a stump that the ax was leaning against. On the right, two more fenced off patches and a tree probably of the fruit-bearing kind.

Finally, so close to the forest that John barely noticed it, was a shed near flushed color-wise with the trees. He only saw it due to the bleached white skulls and horns tacked to the side. A knacker's shed, where animals were taken to be butchered, skinned, their meat cured, smoked, and salted. John shuddered. He recalled seeing a similar structure in a horror movie. Plus those sheds tended to stink when a fresh kill was brought in. John's uncle was big into hunting. Tracking animals was all fun and games for him, but he seemed to relish the after-kill part, gutting and skinning the dead beasts while standing in a mess of gore and blood. It had tended to get both freaky and nauseating, which was why John had never gotten into hunting.

Kill it if it's gonna kill you, or you're starving – that was John's motto.

" I really don't think it's wise for you to be out and about this soon."

John's bones tried to leap from his skin and his heart with them. He whipped his head to the right to see Maj heading toward the wood pile pulling a small wagon of logs behind her, huffing and puffing with the effort. She glanced at John and shook her head. " You are incorrigible. If someone from the committee had seen you, they'd have been all over you with their blasted questions in a heartbeat.

Guilt twinged like a knife-prick in John's chest. His initial instinct was go slinking back inside and back to his room, where he would sit idly as the guilt gnawed on him and Maj gave him the silent treatment. She seemed the type who used silence as a punishment.

Except John wasn't a child, and neither could he be locked away from the committee forever. He stepped off of the porch, moving toward Maj. " I'll take my chances."

Maj took a log from the pile in the wagon and set it on the stump. " And the consequences?" She picked up the ax, raised it high over her shoulder, then brought it down with a heave and a grunt. The ax split the wood neatly in two, both halves thumping on the ground. John paused, both impressed by the woman's strength and a little disconcerted. He snapped from his tiny stupor and went the rest of the way to pick up the halves and place them on the pile.

" Consequences?"

Maj took another log and set it on the stump. " I had to weave a falsehood to get you pass the watch. A falsehood we need to maintain together if we're to keep the committee off our backs." She raised the ax, it fell, and another log was sliced in two. John grabbed the halves and added them to the pile.

" I'm you're long-lost son, I'm a soldier, I was wounded in battle. If you think about it, there's not much more to add seeing as how you haven't seen me since I was a baby. Anything I make up you wouldn't have to vouch for. I mean, we did just find each other and have yet to _really_ swap our life's story." John grinned, wiping his hands off on the side of his trousers. " I think this is one of those instances where what you don't know won't hurt you."

Maj halted on raising the ax, and gave John a suspicious look. " You seem to slip quite easily into a lying state of mind."

John's heart stuttered, his mouth moved, but he had no words to respond with to that accusation. Then Maj grinned, winked, raised the ax and let it fall. " Guess I was worrying for nothing, then."

John grabbed up the wood and tossed them onto the pile. " I've had a lot of practice." He pointed at Maj. " Doesn't mean I like it. Although it does get kind of fun when you get to tell someone you're Mickey Mouse and they haven't got a clue what the hell you're talking about."

Maj wrinkled her brow at John as she set another log down. " Mickey Mouse?"

" Never mind. It's just that, where I come from, when you've got a whole crap-load of people to protect and a bunch of creeps tenderizing your kidneys for the keys into your domain, lying becomes both an act of survival and a means of defiance. So, yeah, I've gotten pretty good at it."

The ax fell with a thwack, and the wood fell with a thump. John grabbed the pieces to put on the pile. Maj grabbed another log. She set the log on the stump, but kept her hand on its top as though trying to keep it upright.

" Your position in life sounds... hard," she said.

John stuck his hands back into his pockets to hide them from the cold and shrugged. " It's not always easy."

Maj started moving her hand, rotating the log on the edge of its unevenly round base. " And it does not bother you, all this pain you suffer protecting your people?"

John looked at the ground, scuffing the heel of his boot into the soft cocktail of dirt, wood chips, and sun-browned needles. " Well... it's not exactly like I forget about it once it's over. There are nightmares, sometimes... phantom pains, a little anxiety for a short while, maybe a panic attack or two after the dreams." He stopped scuffing to look back up at Maj. She didn't look shocked, not like most people did when he mentioned his little after-torture quirks. She did look worried. He never understood why people worried so much over what never lasted. The dreams, the fears, they all went away, diminishing like something shrinking away from the light to hide in the shadows of his mind.

People never understood.

" The thing is," he explained, " they don't last. They don't matter, not in the long run. The people I protect, they're good people – great people. People I'm willing to die for, except I never do because they're always there to get me out. It doesn't matter what happens to me as long as in the end they're all right. And as long as I focus on that, and on what I need to do, everything else just goes away."

Maj pressed her lips together for a thoughtful moment. Then, slowly, a smile lit up her face. She lifted her hand to shake her finger at John. " I knew I had a good reason for saving you."

John smiled back.

They continued the rhythm of Maj chopping wood and John adding the pieces to the stack. He told her what he could about earth, and what he used to do there. Most of it was over her head, but she understood the concept of flying machines. She was a ring traveler, after all, and had encountered the wraith and their flying machines.

John ended up talking himself into a corner and had to admit to being black-marked for rescuing some men against orders to explain why he ended up in the wintry wastes of Antarctica. Maj's gaze seemed to darken, and the ax split the wood with some extra force that sent splinters flying.

" No good deed goes unpunished," she said.

They didn't finish splitting all of the logs. The cold clutching John's legs had crept up into the rest of his body through them, and he started shivering. Moving back and forth from the split wood to the pile had also made him short of breath and his arms shaky. Maj called it a day, setting the ax against the stump then wiping her brow with her sleeve. They headed inside, with Maj ushering John in ahead of her, then to the kitchen table. The warm air made John's muscles melt, and he eased his head toward the table to rest on his folded arms. Maj busied herself whipping up a meal. Meat instead of mash, saying she felt John was ready for it, and that this meat was tender enough to be gentle on his digestion. She boiled it instead of fried it, along with a vegetable like orange squash, adding in a few herbs and spices.

As they dined, they talked, Maj mostly, telling John about her travels. She knew of the Athosians, and had wondered why they could no longer be found on Athos. She would have assumed them all culled, but had managed to run into a few who said only that they'd had to be 'relocated'. She also knew of the Genii, and John smiled on hearing that she didn't really care for them all that much.

" I know they raise prices just for me, being from Ioth. They've never forgiven us for turning them away. And that had been over seven decades ago!"

The meat was good, very tender as Maj had said, and not overwhelming with the flavor. The orange squash tasted like squash, although somewhat sweeter. Maj went on about the difficulties of being a trader from Ioth. Some, like the Athosians, did not hold Ioth's policies against them. Others traded fairly and got their revenge through snide remarks, others didn't trade fairly, and a few held no qualms about gunning down the first Ioth they saw. But Maj was the exception to many in that most didn't even know she was Iothian.

" I don't believe I need to explain to you the necessity of holding bits of vital information back," she said.

John chuckled softly while slicing the meat with the edge of his fork. He paused with a sudden thought, and looked up at Maj. " Hey, Maj, you wouldn't happen to know why the wraith leave your planet alone, would you?"

Maj didn't answer until she was finished chewing, and pointed her fork at John during the process. She swallowed. " You know, you'd think living here all my life I'd of found the answer to that riddle by now. But the fact of the matter is I don't think anyone knows. My father and uncles used to sit around outside during the warm months and discuss it for hours." Maj started waving her fork back and forth. " Plagues, Ioth victorious battles, some sort of weapon, some sort of electric shielding. Even the possibility that we just don't agree with wraith palates." She grinned at that last part. " I just gave up speculating all together. Not always wise to question this kind of good fortune. Besides, chances are we'll never know. Which might be a good thing. Were we to find out, and a wraith got a hold of one of us, we'd be quite doomed, especially if some mighty weapon was the cause. Weapons can be dismantled, blown apart, and I hear rumor that wraith's have ways of making people talk. Terrible ways."

John stabbed at his meat. " You have no idea."

Maj stiffened with wide eyes. " You've been interrogated by them? And lived?"

John shrugged indifferently. " They tried, they failed. Although that queen was kind of distracted at the moment..."

Maj slapped the table and gaped. " A queen! You're jesting with me. A queen! Grand bleedin' royalty! And yet here you are before me. How in the bleeding depths of darkness do you even manage to survive an encounter with a wraith? A _queen_ wraith."

John smirked, using his fork to make his last slice of squash slide around. " Ignore the pain in your skull, yammer a lot, piss her off, and pray for a distraction – which I got. Wraith queens just love a good verbal sparring."

Maj chuckled. " It's a wonder you have any problems with the wraith at all."

" Actually, that's exactly why we have problems with the wraith. Everyone else is all about food. With my people, the wraith have a vendetta and a goal. We're always finding new ways of getting on their nerves, the big one being we won't tell them how to get to earth." John set his fork down. He just couldn't finish off the last few bites. " Okay, I think I'm done for the day."

Maj finished off the last of her food and set her fork on her plate. " Let's get you upstairs for an injury check, then." She stood, grinning. " You're an amusing man, John Sheppard. But just between you and me, I'd keep your wraith-defying stories to yourself. You tell the committee you've survived a wraith encounter, they'll lock you up until they can ship you to the Ioth capital mad house."

John could have claimed himself a budding Spiderman – his senses were tingling. His body could be weary to the point of skirting the edges of a coma, but could never really take all of his mind with it. So even in the dreamless depths of sleep that was like pulling teeth to wake up from, John was aware of a change in his surroundings. So he fought like a swimmer struggling against an undertow, this 'change' his life line reeling him in. When his eyes finally slitted apart, it wasn't to the gray, blue, and black shades of a dark room, but to a figure outlined in fiery gold crouched before the small stove. John blinked away sleep film until the figure took on familiar features. He lifted his heavy head off the pillow to squint at the old woman carrying what looked to be an oddly shaped stick on her back.

" Maj?" His voice sounded as though a frog were talking for him.

Maj stirred and jabbed the fire, making it flare and flicker. " It's all right, John. Go back to sleep."

Easier said than done when John identified the stick as having the distinct shape and form of an Ioth rifle. " What's going on?"

" Your fire was low, didn't want you to freeze," Maj replied.

" And you felt you needed to be armed to toss on some wood?" John furrowed his brow with rising trepidation. The weapon was making him nervous. " This isn't a trust issue thing, is it? Because I kind of thought we were getting along pretty well..."

Maj looked over at him, and the harried look of worry on her face was making him more uneasy than the weapon. Maj wiped her hands off onto her skirt and straightened. " It's not you John." She went over to his bed, and leaned forward enough to peer out the window. " Ris is hissing."

John rolled to his back and pushed himself up into a sitting position. " I'm guessing that's a bad thing. Intruders? Trespassers?"

Maj shook her head. " I don't know. He normally chirps and takes off outside when someone's wandering my backyard. Night Watch looking for a place to drink in private, kids trying some knew mind-altering herbs, or looking for a private place for a tryst. Ris likes chasing them off. But he's refusing to go outside. He's just pacing my room, hunch backed, hissing. The last time he did that, the very next day came the first disappearance. He hasn't done it since until tonight."

John's back spasmed in a shudder along his spine. " So then it's really, _really_ bad."

Maj, still searching out the window, shrugged. " Oh, I don't know, could be nothing. A rival mini-iaret, or one of the larger iarets sniffing about my skinning hut. We'll know by tomorrow if someone disappears." She reached into the pocket of her skirt, and pulled out a surprisingly familiar weapon. " I think you should keep this with you."

She reached out, and John took his 9-mil from her hand. " Where'd you find it?" he asked in disbelief.

" You still had it on you. I took it from you when I found you since I didn't know if I could trust you yet. I forgot I had it until I spotted it on the top shelf of my closet next to my projectile."

John removed the clip to check the bullets, and cocked the chamber to see if it still worked. The weapon felt comfortable in his hand – for reasons of safety and as a piece of home. He jammed the clip back in, checked the safety, then slipped it under his pillow. " Really think something's out there?" he asked, just to break the unnervingly thickening silence.

" Oh, I _know_ something's out there. I just don't know what, and whether it's in my yard or simply prowling the edge of the forest. Just a moment..." She left John's room, only to return a few seconds later, less harried but still tense. " Ris stopped hissing. The little runt is curled up on my bed, so it must be gone."

" How good are Ris' senses?" John asked.

Maj smiled. " He was able to locate a section of wall being devoured by wood-rot mites. The mites are about the size of a grain of sand, and make no sound. If Ris starts acting as though something is outside, then you'd do best to believe him. When he's not worried, then we've no reason to worry." Her smile faded into a frown. " But this has me concerned. Tomorrow – again unless someone has vanished – I think you should be brought before the council so they can ask their questions and give you permission to move about. Your strength is returning quickly, but it's still not up to what it should be, and I'd feel more at ease if I could have you in mys sights more."

John felt struck down to the level of a ten year old, and didn't like it. He opened his mouth, about to say as much, when Maj raised her hand to stop him.

" I know, you're not a child, but you are my responsibility seeing as how I brought you out here. You should also be given freedom to move through the town should you ever come in need of assistance."

" I can take care of myself," John argued.

Maj lowered her hand and set her mouth in a thin, grim line. " The last one to speak similar words died two weeks later." She turned to go, but paused, glancing over her shoulder. " Indulge an old woman, John. This place cannot be trusted." Then she left.

John stared after her. His pride wanted him to sulk at the implications that he'd just been treated as a child, but logic didn't let him. This was Maj's home, her village, her world. She knew what she was talking about, and John wasn't going to let himself realize this the hard way. He could be petulant later. Right now all he wanted to do was survive long enough to get home.

John awoke to the twilight morning hours expanding toward gray daylight. This made it the fourth time he awoke with his hand sliding beneath the pillow to grip the cool casing of his 9-mil. The only difference between now and the other three times was that there was light enough to see by for a peek out the window. John forced his stiff muscles to let himself sit up and lean forward enough to look outside. Shadows still hid objects except for their basic shapes. A beam of light emanating – it seemed – from the back door danced like a hyper insect over the ground and across these objects – the would pile, fencing, sleeping fruit tree, until finally settling on flitting about the stump.

Maj's shadow-sharpened form stepped from the porch and approached the stump as though she'd never seen such a thing before. When she came in close enough, she circled it, then moved off to the wood pile, passing the beam of light over the split logs. John watched her wondering if he needed to go out and offer whatever help he could to whatever it was she was doing.

Maj returned to the stump. That's when it finally hit John.

The ax was gone.

Maj looked around in a lost kind of manner, then looked up, directly at John as though confirming what he'd finally figured out. John's heart thudded hard against his chest, and he stiffened. He wanted Maj to come inside, now. Not for his sake, and definitely not because he didn't want to be alone. What he was seeing was too much of a horror movie moment to feel comfortable about, the moment when the one who had taken the ax would detach himself from the shadows and come slinking up behind his would-be victim. Then John would try to shout for Maj to run, but since she wouldn't be able to hear him, she would just give him a bewildered look as the ax was raised...

John twitched his head. He'd never considered himself as having a massive imagination, but it was certainly giving him hell now. Maj remained alone outside staring up at John's window, speaking without words.

" _Ris hisses for a reason."_ Finally, she headed back inside. John's tension refused to ease from his body.

TBC...


	11. Life in Town

It hadn't been easy procuring a wagon and Lyret for a trip to the outskirts of the city. McKay had to request to have a bunch of these small, round metal things called nickels melted down into chips to use as payment for the transportation. It hadn't been a quick trip, taking the better part of the day following the paved road that stopped like an invisible dead end when the pavement changed to pact dirt marked up in the faint remnants of wheel ruts.

Ronon hadn't been too happy about coming to this place, but had kept it to himself. They'd done plenty of searching over the past couple of days within the city, and with no results to show for it, now had become as appropriate a time as any to expand their search grid. Mostly just to keep Caldwell from breathing down their necks. He was starting to check in more often than Ronon thought necessary. According to McKay, this was just the beginning of Caldwell's innuendo fest leading toward the big finale of calling off the search. And that had actually gave Ronon a twinge of anxiety.

The anxiety had been about to escalate to anger when the trip began, riding in the back of the clacking, jerking, heaving wagon with a smaller back right wheel. Yet, now that Ronon was here...

The wagon remained on the paved part of the road as though a dead end really did exist, and the rather scrawny brown Lyret kept snorting and pawing restlessly. Sound barely had a presence except for bird calls and some distant moan that couldn't possibly come from a bird. The dirt road was walled in by trees where decaying houses hid as though ashamed of their own existence. Plenty of shelter where Sheppard could hide, with no city dwellers to cause him grief. Wandering the woods by keeping to the buildings, Ronon found signs of old roads, once paved, now half-buried by soil and weeds save for patches.

No footprints, though, except for those made by animals.

McKay was peering into windows, and calling out Sheppard's name through cracks and barrier-less doorways. He wasn't going to risk entering any, and Ronon didn't blame him. A sneeze could have knocked these structures down. Ronon, however, felt a little risk was in order if they were going to get anywhere. Holding to survival instincts, which he knew John had plenty of, Ronon entered those buildings nearest the city and that looked the most structurally sound. What he found he wasn't quite sure what to make of.

The beam of his flashlight cut through the twilight gloom over warped and rotted floorboards, plant debris, and bones. Animals bones, and more disconcerting – human bones; old, brittle, and well-gnawed human bones identified by the human skulls. Ronon crouched before the scatter bits of skeleton and picked up a femur. He set down his flashlight to grip the thing in both hands and snap it in two as easily as he would a twig.

Floorboards groaned behind Ronon. The runner didn't turn around. No need to.

" Ronon?" Teyla said.

Ronon tossed the femur halves away. " None of the bones I've found could be Sheppard's. Too old. Way too old."

The floorboards groaned again when Teyla moved to crouch beside Ronon. She reached out and picked up a rib, turning it over, studying it with discomfort. Her expression was more troubled than disgusted.

" You've been acting... strange," he said. " Quiet. Sheppard?"

She set the bone down gently as though with respect. " Yes... and no. I have been sensing something _odd_ about this planet."

Ronon shook his head making his hair wag. " And everyone says I state the obvious," he murmured.

Teyla gave him an exasperated look coupled with a sharp sigh. " That is not what I mean. It is difficult to explain except to say that I have been sensing _something_."

Ronon's muscles tightened, especially at his back, and his heart slammed. " Wraith?"

Teyla picked up another bone, this one from a small lizard-like creature. " I do not know. What I am feeling is different than what I usually feel when the wraith are around. Different, but similar. I wish I could clarify, but it is like trying to describe the taste of salt." She tossed the bone away. " I never felt comfortable here since the first day we came. I had simply attributed it for a general dislike of Ioth's treatment toward others, especially its own people. But now that I have been here for longer, I found that this feeling has grown."

Teyla tilted her head back as though struck by a sudden thought. " I can explain it in this way. There have been times when emotions have come upon me – fear, mostly. Again I dismissed it thinking this feeling to be my own; fear of being found out by the government, fear for Colonel Sheppard... Yet, this fear, it comes and it goes, and is never strong, always the same. It's almost as if... it's not my own. As though the fears belong to another but have been displaced on me. Fear, and urgency separate from the urgency to find John. When I close my eyes at night, I feel cold though my body is warm, and the darkness is not absolute."

Teyla's eyes lost focus as she stared into some distant place within her mind, pulling herself deeper into it in order to bring it to the surface. " My dreams have consisted of darkened corridors that breathe. I am always searching for Sheppard, and yet I know he is not in those corridors, so I do not know why I search there. And at the same time, I know something is searching for me... Something that is not Sheppard."

She blinked, and lowered her head to look down. " It makes no sense to me." She picked up a twig and began drawing shapes in the dust like a forlorn child. " None of it does, what I am sensing. But it disturbs me. It has become something intrusive, something that violates my mind, but for now isn't strong enough for me not to repel it. It comes and it goes, all of it." Finally, she looked directly at the Satedan. " There is something on this world that shouldn't be here."

Ronon didn't react, he was too well practiced at keeping on masks. But as Sheppard might put it, he was feeling a little 'freaked'. When it came to Teyla's wraith-sensing capabilities, there was no second guessing her. She didn't posses various sensory perceptions for various lifeforms, she sensed wraith and only wraith.

No one had ever considered, or needed to – Teyla included – that she had the ability to sense other things.

Ronon needed to ask. " Does it frighten you?"

She continued to look at him, holding his gaze. Her eyes gave the answer before her mouth did.

" Yes."

Ronon moved back upright in one smooth, effortless motion, and Teyla mirrored him a second after.

" All the more reason to find Sheppard and get off this rock." They headed out of the dead house with its dead bodies. Neither Ronon nor Teyla voiced the question of why there were unburied bones in abandoned buildings. Ronon didn't really care to know, and he was certain Teyla just plain didn't want to know – as long as none of the bones belonged to Sheppard.

SGA

Maj placed the painted glass cups with their painted glass saucers on the wooden tray, surrounding the painted glass kettle, and carried the whole arrangement out into her living room to set on the stand beside her couch where five of the eight members of the committee sat. Lorek, and next to him the thick bodied and brawny armed Iena. The brown haired-going on gray woman was village born and bred, giving Maj a little more tolerance for her. Beside Iena was Kyore, a heavy-set man a combination of fat and muscle. He had thick, corded arms beneath the long sleeves of his brown jacket, and a round gut that hung a little over his straining leather belt with the large silver buckle. A thick black beard covered most of his face, but his dark hair swept over his balding pate barely covered his scalp. Next to him (much to Maj's irritation) was Gindela. The short, bony woman was around John's years, with a round face and a small, sharp nose. She had her auburn hair done up in two brains wrapped around the back of her head in a bun. Furthering Maj's irritation, the woman was wearing her city-bought red dress made of shimmery material, with a broad hoop skirt and black lace. Gindela may have been village born, but might as well have been city raised. Her parents used to be the official representatives for this village, which always came with perks, such as payment. Gindela's family had amassed quite a fortune that Gindela showed no restraint in indulging in.

Last – and most definitely least – was old Freg, the eldest of the village being seventy-seven. He was of medium height, lean, stopped, with a prickly white beard and wisps of white hair that seemed to flow at the brush of the tiniest breeze. His gnarled, spotted hands were clasped on the Lyret head carved handle of a dark wooden cane. His grey-blue eyes were narrowed as he stared at the object of the committee's reason for being here.

John sat before them all in one of Maj's kitchen chairs. Face congenial, body rigid, and hands clasping his knees. The young man was back in his original pants – cleaned and mended – as well as his boots. His shirt required a little more time to patch up - more holes to knit and stains to scrub out – so John had been forced to settle for one of Maj's husband's old shirts. The collar was wide, the cuffs frayed, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing when looked at in the right light. It may have been embarrassing, uncomfortable, but the loose shirt that did little in hiding the fact that John had a rather bony frame gave him the illusion of being vulnerable, and appearing vulnerable gave people the impression of being harmless. And thus, appearing harmless would put him in better favor with the committee.

John was hating it. Maj knew good and well his tension wasn't about being presented in front of the committee. She had the feeling John didn't give a Lyret's backside about them.

Maj did give a Lyret's backside, especially concerning Gindela and old Freg. Gindela had a small smirk on her face, enjoying what she was seeing. Freg's eyes flickered with flames of immediate dislike, and had probably already passed his judgment of John as being a debased young upstart who needed a good beating into submission – although Freg tended to think that about all people under the age of fifty.

Lorek took one of the tea cups, but the others declined. " Thank you Maj," he said in that tone of combination polite gratitude and polite dismissal. Maj gave him a tight smile and backed up toward the stairs to lean against the balustrade, rubbing her presence and stubborn resolve not to leave her charge alone in these people's faces.

Lorek ignored it and took a sip of tea. " John, is it?" he began.

John twitched his head in a small nod. " Yep."

" Ya have a last name to go with the first, John?" Freg asked next.

" Sheppard."

Both Maj and John felt that the more they could stick with certain truths, the easier it would be to maintain the cover story.

" Your father's name, I presume?" Lorek said before taking another sip.

" You'd presume correct."

Maj had warned John not to be too cheeky, but hadn't really stressed the point. It was only natural that a child of Maj would have a bit of a mouth on him. Lorek was about to take another sip when he paused and turned blatantly suspicious eyes toward Maj. " I do not recall if you said you had been married to this man's father."

Maj stiffened at the implication, and she glared at Lorek. " Do you honestly take me for a loose woman, Lorek? Of course I was married. But the man had no intentions of wanting to live on Ioth, or letting our son grow up here. I've told you before, no one likes us, Lorek. So he took John and left."

Lorek pursed his lips and returned his gaze to John. " What is your profession on your world, John?"

" Military, soldier. Glorified enforcer. I'm head of military operations... uh, in the city we occupy."

Maj beamed, mostly in pretend pride for her pretend son, but also at the quirked eyebrow looks of the committee.

" That is... quite a profession," Lorek said rather nervously.

" It's also why he's no intentions of staying," Maj jumped in. " He needs to return to his world and city as soon as he can."

Lorek nodded. " I see. Tell me, John, how was Maj able to find you after all these years? And how did she know you were her long lost son?"

John lifted a shoulder in a shrug, causing the collar to slip down it a little, which he abruptly snatched back into place. " Word of mouth. She told me she'd been asking around forever, looking for my dad – uh, Tim Sheppard. But since my dad's dead she didn't really find him, just me. So, basically, by name. Sheppard's kind of a rare last name on any world."

" And why had you not gone to seek your mother out?" Kyore asked.

" My dad told me she was dead. I think he really, really didn't want me ending up on this world."

" And you just took your mother's word," Freg said, " that she was your mother?"

" Dad kept some pictures of her."

" Maj said you had been injured," Gindela interjected, big-eyed and overdoing it on her look of concern. " How did this happen?"

John proceeded to start rubbing the back of his neck. " It's, uh, kind of complicated. These guys started roughing up this kid, see. I went to stop them and they started pounding me into the dirt instead. They would have killed me if mom hadn't shown up. Supposedly someone saw where I'd gone and pointed her in the right direction. It was on another world at the time – diplomatic mission – and mom didn't know who to take me to, so she just brought me here. I was separated from my people at the time. Diplomacy didn't go off too well, some folks upset with the government got restless, and all hell broke lose. I got lost, was trying to find my way back... just one big crap-load of misery after that until mom was pointed my way."

Maj's grinned broadened. John was good, his tone casual, and his words fluent without the stumbling block of trying to think up what else could be added to the tale. Tonight, if his stomach could handle it, she was making him sweet-rolls.

" Maj said your injuries were quite severe," Freg said, thrumming his fingers on the handle of his cane. " Let's see them."

John's congenial mask slipped a fraction to betray his sudden discomfort. He looked to Maj, who could only shrug helplessly. She hadn't expected this. Not that it was anything to worry over, but Maj had hoped there to be as little unease as possible for John in this.

John moved his hands hesitantly to his shirt. Maj caught Gindela's eyes light up, and it tied Maj's stomach in knots of disgust.

" Stand up, boy!" Freg snapped.

John did so, reluctantly, and even more reluctantly raised the shirt up to his armpits.

" Bandages, boy," Freg said.

John had to lower the shirt and reach under it to undo the bandaging he let drop to the floor. He looked away from the committee when he raised the shirt back up, staring at some spot on the floor to his right. Freg rose, his motions almost fluid for an old man, and tapped the floor with his cane as he moved over to John, circling him, stepping in closer to inspect the scabbed cuts and slowly fading but still visible bruises. The bruise taking up most of one side of John's ribcage was still the darkest, but going yellow in spots.

Kyore rose from his seat and took two steps forward to stand before John. Kyore was a half a head taller than John, and so bulky he made John look positively emaciated.

" A bit scrawny for a soldier," Kyore said. The hairs on the back of Maj's neck bristled.

" He was ill," she said, voice low and flat. " And he's still recovering. In fact he's regaining his strength quite quickly. Don't let appearances fool you, Kyore. My son is quite capable of handling himself very well in a fight, no matter the size of his opponent."

Lorek set his tea-cup back on the tray so he could join the other men in perusing John like a piece of meat. Then Gindela rose, and swayed up to John to place her hand on his shoulder. " I think he looks quite strong," she said, moving her hand down to his bicep. " He only needs a bit more flesh to cover his bones and color to his skin, then he would be perfect."

Maj was ready to pull the little hussy away, but Iena beat her to it, grabbing the girl's arm and hauling her back to the couch. Maj looked back at John. The young man's eyes had darkened dangerously, his breathing increased, and the muscles of his tightly clenched jaw twitched. And he was shaking. It was imperceptible enough for none of the committee to spot it, but Maj had sharper eyes conditioned from years of noticing broken leaves and blades of grass created by passing hoof-prints of prey and foot prints of strangers. She saw his trembling in his unsteady hands, exhales that made his chest stutter, and the twitchy movement in the skin of his flanks created by the twitching of muscles beneath. When Freg moved in close enough for his breath to brush John's skin, the twitching became more pronounced.

Maj stepped forward to intercede with this torment, right at the same moment Freg got it in his head to jab John's bruised ribs – hard – with the handle of his cane. John released hold of his shirt to grab his side and double over with a short-lived cry of pain.

" That hurt, boy?" Freg demanded. John staggered away from the chair, and Freg followed.

Maj's irritation blossomed into burning rage. " Freg!" she snarled. She stepped between John and Freg while reaching out behind her to grab John's sleeve at the shoulder and stop him from stumbling. " Of course it hurt him you brainless old bag!"

" Freg," Iena admonished. " That had been uncalled for. You only needed to look at the man to see he is injured."

Freg straightened – not much against his hunched-back - and sniffed. " Had to make sure they weren't superficial."

" They're not," Maj growled. " You had your questions, you had your look, so now it's time for me to ask you all to leave."

The committee just stood there as though considering this. It was Iena who got up and headed for the door. " She's right," she said, pausing to take her coat from the hook by the entrance. " I personally believe we know what we need to. No reason to muddle around."

Maj could have hugged Iena. The others followed her lead without question, even Freg and Gindela who were slower about it. They shuffled single-file out the door with murmured good-bys. Lorek lingered behind with his hand on the door and his head turned to look at Maj.

" You keep him in line, Maj. Familiarize him with our laws. He might be a guest here but he's still subject to the same punishments should he step out of line."

Maj rolled her eyes. " I know that, Lorek. I've already talked to him about it. So go already. I've got things to do and you're holding me up."

Lorek hovered, contemplating what more to say. Coming up with nil, he finally left shutting the door behind him. Maj exhaled in relief.

" Took them blasted long enough," she muttered, and turned to John, placing both her hands on both his arms. He was no longer doubled up, just a little hunched about the shoulders, with his hand pressed against his side and his breathing heavy. Maj ducked her head enough to catch John's gaze.

" You all right, John?"

He swallowed, then nodded. But when he spoke, his voice was faint. " Yeah... I will be." He chuckled weakly. " Who'd a thought that old guy could pack a punch like that."

Maj directed John back to the chair and had him sit. She knelt beside him, lifting his shirt and carefully pressing along his wounded side. " Does it still hurt?"

" A little. Kind of throbbing now. I think the old man hit directly on a break or something."

" Well," Maj said, continuing to press in a way that didn't cause John pain, " nothing feels misaligned or rebroken. I just think your side's still tender. I'll just rebind it." She lowered John's shirt, but didn't move. " John, I am so sorry for this. I thought they would ask you questions, not..."

John smirked. " Look me over like a bad side of beef?"

Maj furrowed her brow at the odd word 'beef', but shook her head in a silent 'never mind'. " Humiliate you. I know you'd rather I didn't point this out, but I noticed you were shaking. Whether it was getting your blood to boil or scaring the the sanity out of you is your business, I'm just sorry it got that far."

John shook his head. " It's not your fault."

Maj gave him a melancholy smile. " Oh, but it is. That old codger Freg had it in for me the day I was born. Had it in for my mother as well." Maj laughed. " and you know why?"

" Off-worlder prejudice?"

" No. My family has always been better than his family at hunting. His family may have the fancy weapons, but my family has the skill."

" Still doesn't make it your fault." John looked at his hands moving back and forth on his thighs as though he were wiping his palms. " I'll admit that I was getting a little freaked, and a lot pissed. It's hard to keep your mouth shut in situations like that, when all you want to do is knock someone flat on their ass but you can't. I did that once – knocked out a few of this guy's teeth for having me stripped butt-naked for purposes of humiliation. Lots and lots of people staring. Then the guy kind of started getting a little friendly, I got a lot angry, smacked him down, and got beat to a nice bloody pulp for it."

Maj's heart lurched. " Mind if I ask what brought about that bit of cruelty?"

John sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. " Nothing. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They mistook me for someone else."

Maj's heart lurched again, and she wondered which scars on him had come about from that experience. Her immediate desire was to give him some sort of consolation. Instead she asked, " Did he pay for what he did?"

" I think so," he replied. " A friend told me he'd been arrested for what he did, but that's all I know."

Maj placed her hand on John's back for a small pat. " Better than nothing, I suppose." Not really, not in her book. She was distracted from John's story when she felt the minor tremors of his body beneath her hand. It was possible that he was cold. More likely that he'd been far more 'freaked' than he let on. Stowing away the pains and the hurts didn't ensure that they were forgotten. Control was the key to moving on with life, leaving the pains and hurts behind. However, the right trigger presented in the right manner could yank it all back with enough force to shake that control. In John's current condition, his control could have easily cracked. The man had adept resilience. At a price, though. Weariness was made manifest in his sagging shoulders and even paler face.

Maj rose, and took John's arm in both her hands to help him rise.

" Come on," she said. " Into the kitchen so I can patch you up and get some food in you. I also want you to have a quick nap before we leave."

John pushed himself from the seat and leaned against Maj to steady himself. " Where are we going?"

Maj tugged his arm to get him moving into the kitchen. " To Ruln's supply shop. Seems I'm in need of a new ax."

SGA

John felt better. The memory of the old man's sour breath puffing against his skin still made his flesh crawl, but the nap had refreshed him and the incident of a few hours ago he was able to push to the back of his mind. Maj let him wear the coat he'd taken the first time he went outside and felt comfortably cocooned within it. Back in his more weather resistant BDUs and boots, the only part of him unlucky to suffer the cold was his face. But that was all. The collar of the coat was snug enough to be airtight without choking him.

He and Maj joined up with Gidel who lived just on the other side of the barn. Together the three of them walked down the center of the wide dirt road running between the identical log houses, branching off left and right every three cabins down. The village was fascinating in an odd sort of way, still upholding John's impression of some kind of summer camp. He saw more telephone poles, and streetlights – they had streetlights. No electric cars, though. Just wagons or saddled Lyret's. The people out and about in the biting weather gave them fleeting looks. Not fleeting enough for John to miss the apprehension, and one or two flashes of hostility. All of which John had the distinct impression was being aimed at him. That was the problem with tight-knit communities – the stranger stood out like a red boil on a pretty face.

The social centers of the town – stores, meeting-hall, committee house – were all clustered within the heart of the village. John would have dismissed them for more mass-produced cabins if it hadn't been for the signs above the doors or on the display windows. They reached the village's center without John fully realizing it until Gidel detached himself from their measly group to head into the feed and tack shop. Maj kept going, and John kept following, giving people friendly smiles and getting sour expressions in return.

 _Oh, such a lovely, friendly little town. Very Laura Ingles after the exorcism._ He wished McKay were here. He would have loved to have heard the physicist's opinion of this place delivered in sarcastic diatribes. The villagers probably would have strung him up by his thumbs within the hour, but it would have been entertaining while it had lasted.

" So," John began conversationally. " Is everyone always so welcoming or is it just lil' ole' me?"

The corner of Maj's mouth curled into a smirk. " I believe it is you, John. I haven't seen this kind of a response for years."

" Should I be worried?"

" Not if you stick with me and try not to make eye contact."

The 'hardware store', simply named Ruln's Supplies, was one building down from the town-hall, and only a single story structure. John and Maj veered off the streets and entered the comfortably warm, and very large interior with its shelves and walls and barrels of tools. Farming, repair, carving, skinning, and even weapons from rifles lined up in rows on racks and knives laid out in glass display cases. As Maj preoccupied herself with looking over the various axes hanging from walls or gathered in a large barrel, John wandered the maze of shelving. He studied the alien tools, picking a few up then setting them down. Screw-drivers and hammers similar to what could be found on earth, and tools he couldn't even fathom a purpose for. On one wall hung sickles, scythes, saws and other sharp objects like something that would be wielded by goblins.

John meandered until he found himself within sight of who he guessed to be Ruln. He was a tall, lean man with a black beard and stringy black hair that stopped an inch above his shoulders. He was behind the counter, sorting various sized nails into the right slots of a compartmental box. He looked up the moment John came into his line of sight, and his look of bored indifference morphed into something hard-set and unpleasant.

" You going to buy something?" The man had a voice like gravel. John flinched at the sound.

" Uh... No. I'm here with someone else..."

Ruln returned his attention to his sorting. " Then get out."

" But I'm waiting..."

" Wait by the door. This isn't a house. Either buy something or get out."

John shoved back the anger trying to beat his nerves flat. He gave the man a patient smile, then headed back out into the frosty air where he leaned with his back against the wall by the door. He stuck his hands into his pockets and cross one foot over the other, casual and yet at the same time tense as a high-strung cat. People passing by gave him snippet looks; a flash of the white of their eyes then back to the way ahead. A woman entering the store moved short of running to get passed John, keeping her eyes ahead.

" Guess I won't be making any friends any time soon," he muttered. He hunched his shoulders and buried his face deeper into his collar with the hopes of being less conspicuous.

" You're new here."

John flinched at the unfamiliar voice. He turned his head left to a girl that appeared to be barely into her twenties. She had raven dark hair spilling in waves down to the middle of her back, large sky-blue eyes, and an oval face. Her features were sharp, but in a pretty way rather than severe. She wore a long azure skirt and knit violet sweater thick as to look a little too big on her. Instead of a coat, she had a violet and black shawl wrapped around her slim shoulders.

Her eyes reflected shy, but her smile contradicted that.

John straightened. " Am I that obvious or do I just have one of those faces?"

The girl shrugged and pulled the shawl tighter. " Face, actually. You live here long enough, you get them all memorized, so the new ones end up jumping out at you. My name is Mris. What's yours?"

" John."

Mris nodded. " I've heard of you. Maj's son. Well, John, since I'm certain no one else has done it yet, I officially welcome you to Village 443."

John grinned. " It's about time someone said that. Thanks. Although I'm not planning on taking up residence here. I've got my own world I have to get back to."

Mris' coy smile seemed to become even more coy if that were possible. " That's too bad. Life gets interesting for a time when there's new blood." Mris moved in closer, which seemed an even more massive contradiction to her timid eyes. McKay could spout his Kirk mantras all he wanted. John would admit to being a sucker for a pretty face, but half the beauty lay in the personality. He admired women who were independent, strong, capable, and smart – like Teyla and Dr. Weir. He was drawn to, and enjoyed being around, women who were kind and gentle-hearted – like Chaya and Teer. But stick him with a woman either a little too eager or a hell of a lot more incorrigible than him, and he got cautious. John Sheppard didn't take advantage of women, especially the kind trying to take advantage of him, the kind his mom had always warned him about who were always willing to settle for less just to get what they want.

Or worse; the kind who knew exactly what they wanted, and would do anything to get it.

Mris looked up at John with her large, shy eyes that weren't quite so shy close up. Of the two kinds of women mama Sheppard had warned John about, John was starting to suspect this girl was less the former and more the latter. Then again, John might have been jumping to conclusions. He was on high alert, which tended to make him look at life a little less positively. Mris could just be incredibly outgoing.

 _And putting on the shy act becaaaauuuse... it's fun? She's messing with me?_ John was aware he was starting to over analyze, but something about this girl seemed off, and it was making him uncomfortable.

" There's always a little commotion," she said. " People keeping watch, waiting for the new blood to try something. That's what they were like when my family got booted here." She shrugged. " We got used to it though, and they got used to us. Given time, a couple of months, and they get used to you too. But seeing as how you said you weren't sticking around, I suppose you won't have that to look forward to. So where are you from?"

John eased himself back against the wall. Never a good idea to let the one making you nervous see you acting nervous. " A planet you probably never heard of. Unless you've been off world."

Mris chuckled caustically. " What'd you think I am, stupid? And get contaminated?"

" You don't seem to have any problems standing next to me?"

" You bathed, right? At least you don't smell like you haven't washed in a while. I just prefer to play it safe and keep my feet on this planet. What do you do on your world?"

" I'm a soldier."

Mris' timidness was immediately traded in for absolute incredulity as she looked him up and down. " You're not a soldier."

John narrowed his eyes. " And you would know because...?"

" You're a little on the skinny side to be much of a soldier. Soldiers are bigger. Have to be to fight and handle weapons. You'd be dead the moment someone smashed your in the face."

On the outside, John's smile remained frozen in place. On the inside, his chest tightened with offense.

 _Well isn't she just an adorable little bitch._ The girl was apparently enjoying her little baiting of him. Her eyes, having given up the shy facade, were sparkling with anticipated expectation for John's reaction. Maybe she was just playing with him, or maybe she was being a little witch. But John knew games when he saw them, and knew how to play.

" I'm tall," he replied. " Stretched muscle and bone. And I'm pretty active as much as I can be, plus not a heavy eater, so fat never really has a chance to accumulate on me. Never underestimate the skinny guy. I'm a hell of a lot stronger than I look."

Mris kept her gaze locked with John's, searching out the deception. " I suppose." Then her lips curled into an amused grin. " Show me a few of your battle scars," she said with a wink, " and I might be inclined to believe you."

John leaned in close to her face, but Mris remained right where she was.

" You're just going to have to take my word for it," John said, and moved away back to leaning against the wall.

Mris shrugged as though it were no never-mind to her. " Okay. But I don't know you well enough to take your word for anything."

" Your problem, not mine."

Mris moved in a few inches closer until her arm was brushing up against his. " That can be remedied, you know..."

" Mris?"

Mris quickly stepped back, yet her grin stayed put. If anything, she was looking even more amused when a thick bodied man with auburn hair and beard came up beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. He had a rifle slung onto his shoulder, and some kind of flashlight dangling from his belt. He looked John up and down, then gave him a jerk of the head as a greeting.

" You look familiar," he said. " I see Maj managed to put you back together."

John turned from leaning with his back to leaning with his shoulder. " And you are...?"

" Jorsek. Part of the patrol. I never did catch your name, off-worlder."

" John."

" John." Jorsek lifted his chin. " You really Maj's son?"

" Would I be here if I wasn't?"

Jorsek shrugged. " Probably not. But rumor has it that Maj likes to take in strays – animal and otherwise. She has a lot of heart, that Maj. Could be the death of her though. Death of all of us if she ever decided to bring one of her little charity cases back."

" Good thing I'm more than just a charity guess then."

Jorsek looked John up and down for a second time. " I guess. But an off-worlder is still an off-worlder no matter the blood ties. We don't like the prospect of more mouths to feed around here."

John held up one hand. " Relax. The moment I can get out of here, then I'm out of here. I've got my own life to live, I don't need a new one."

Mris laughed throatily. " He's a soldier, Jorsek."

Jorsek snorted, giving John a third once-over. " You're messing with me."

" That's what he says."

" Yep," John said with a smirk. " That's what I said."

Jorsek snorted again as though indecisive as to whether or not laugh out loud.

John fluttered his eyelids and gave Jorsek a sickeningly sweet smile. " I could show _you_ my scars if you want."

Jorsek finally did chuckle, low and breathy, while shaking his head. " You're a weird one, aren't you."

John scratched idly at the side of his neck. " Most prefer the term insane."

" Hope that isn't really the case," Jorsek said, and John caught something dark but fleeting disdain in the man's eyes. " I might be forced to lock you up. Safety of the town to consider and all. You understand."

Jon inclined his head. " Completely. But you can relax. I'm pretty much harmless half the time. The other half is strictly out of self defense."

Jorsek opened his mouth for a reply when Maj stepped from the store with her brand new ax resting against her shoulder. Her head swiveled back and forth between John and Jorsek until finally settling on Jorsek.

" I see you finally met my son," Maj said, tone flat and heavy on the suspicion.

Jorsek kept his eyes on John. " Yeah, finally did."

" Have a nice chat?"

" Well enough," Jorsek replied. " Not really finished, though. I'll talk to you later, John." With that said, both Jorsek and Mris started moving on, Mris waggling her fingers in a little good-bye at John. When they were gone, Maj turned to John, slightly relieved but still looking somewhat tense.

" I'd rather you not have any further conversations with either of them," she said.

John pushed away from the wall. " I'm way ahead of you on that. I have the feeling Jorsek doesn't like me much and Mris' only interests involve the removal of my pants."

Both Maj's eyebrows and the corner of her lips quirked upward. " Watch that dung-heap mouth of yours boy. Although I won't deny that Mris wouldn't hesitate in stripping you down the first opportunity she got. She had that look in her eye... and though I know I can't command you around in certain aspects of your life, I would hope you wouldn't take her up on any offers she gives you."

John glanced over his shoulder in the direction Jorsek and Mris had gone. " I'm not that kind of a guy. Mom always said a girl who throws herself at you has no self respect, and a woman with no self respect isn't even worth knowing."

Maj smiled and clapped John on the arm. " Smart woman."

" You have no idea."

Anything else that would have been said was halted when a bell rang out drawing in the populace to the center of the town. Maj followed the masses without an explanation, so John followed in turn. They took a side-street to the back of the meeting hall and a raised platform like an outdoor, round-stage. Lorek was standing on it with Kyore next to him and another man – medium height, medium build, with wispy sandy hair and a bristling mustache – was tugging on the rope attached to the bell. The ringing sounded for three minutes longer until Lorek held up both hands for silence.

John's heart started beating faster. Maj had explained most of the laws and customs of the village to him, but there were always those small customs that were so rare even Maj wouldn't have remembered to mention them – such as introducing the new guy to the rest of the villagers, and letting him get a sea of evil eyes all at once.

" Citizens of 443," Lorek said, loud and clear for such a seemingly quiet man. " I ask you all to remain calm and listen close. I fear we must request the formation of yet another hunting party. Yven Vril has been unable to be located by his family. He was last seen by his wife – Zana Vril – heading to their barn to feed the animals at early morning, and has not been seen since. The Vril family has searched the town, so now it is up to us to search the woods. I need able-bodied men capable of participating to grab what weapons they can and meet back at the square in ten minutes. Though Zana has informed us that Yven has been known to slip away to the Iaret canyon river to fish, we are still to not take any chances. This may be nothing, or it may not. So make haste that there remain daylight enough to search by."

The sandy-haired man rang the bell again, and the people dispersed quickly to spread in all directions liked panicked masses without the screaming and shouting. John felt a pull on his coat sleeve that forced him to start walking.

" Maybe I can help," he said. " I got this friend who taught me a couple of tracking techniques..."

" Oh no," Maj said, keeping hold of John's sleeve though she no longer needed to. " We're heading back to the house. You may have been fit enough for a walk through the town, but you're still not fit for any adventuring even if it is just a search."

Maj moved fast for such a small woman, so fast John was having a hard time keeping up, mainly due to increasing exhaustion. By the time they reached the house, John was stumbling so much that Maj finally just kept her hands wrapped around his arm to hold him upright. The cold air rubbed his throat raw with each heaving breath until he was coughing. Maj directed his weary body into the kitchen where she deposited him in a chair, then poured him a glass of water. John took the glass, and downed the water in a single breath.

" Sorry about that, John," she said as she helped him take off the coat. His shirt was soaked with sweat that turned what was supposed to be warm air chilled, making him shiver. Maj filled another glass of water from the sink. " I didn't mean to push you like that. I just got a little spooked back there." She moved to the table and set the glass down. John took it, and sipped rather than gulped. Maj leaned forward with her palms flat on the table and her gaze focused on the wall across from her.

" Yven's barn was right on the edge of the woods," she said more to herself than to John. " _Right_ on the edge. The entrance faces away but there are the windows... So that still wouldn't be considered taken in the town. Still, it's very close..." Maj tucker her lower lip under her teeth, and fell silent. John watched and waited as he sipped his water to hear what else Maj had to say. Instead, she straightened.

" You still have your weapon?"

John set the glass down. " In my room under my pillow."

Maj nodded. " Good, a good place to have it. Only place you can since you aren't allowed a projectile until after a residence of at least a month. Come with me."

Maj didn't wait for John. She headed for the stairs, and John had to scramble from the chair to follow. By the time he reached the top of the stairs Maj was already emerging from her room carrying two bladed weapons that looked like a cross between Teyla's fighting sticks and half the blade of a Samurai sword. She carried both weapons in one hand, and held them out to John. " Here, take these. You may not be allowed a projectile but in light of what's been going on the Committee can't very well disallow you the opportunity to defend yourself in some way.

John took the weapons and held them in both hands. They couldn't really be called swords with the handle being the same length as the blade. They were more like some kind of ancient machete in design but recently made. The wood part was carved in painstakingly intricate designs that made the handles easy to grip without hurting the hand. The weapons were light and well balanced, like fighting sticks, and probably handled in the same way.

" My husband made those," Maj said. " Learned the method on another world. They may not look like much, but I've seen my husband slice logs with them during practice. Clean through with one swipe when handled right."

John stepped back to twirl one of the blades as Teyla had taught him without hitting Maj. Maj pursed her lips, impressed. " That was good. You've handled weapons like these before?"

" Sticks, not really blades, but these feel the same."

Maj folded her arms. " Good, then I won't have to worry about you taking your own hand off. You tuck those in your belt whenever you go out, keep them with you."

John shifted the weapons to carry both in one hand, and looked at Maj. " You're making me a little nervous here, Maj."

" Good," she said. " You should be."

TBC...


	12. Intervention

" You have got to be kidding me!" Rodney snarled. The smoke of his panting breath accumulated to form a white cloud that obscured most of his face. The ragged man with the grime-smeared face had the momentary decency to become a little nervous, but quickly squared his shoulders to take on the defensive.

" Hey, now, don't go be getting vengeful on me. Had I known he was a wanted man, I would have slugged him harder to drop him then dragged him to ya. As it was, I was doin' what any red-blooded Iothian would do – I put that off-worlder in his place. So don't blame me..."

Rodney rolled his eyes then pointed left with a stiff finger. " Just go. Take your useless info and beat it."

The man gave Rodney a look that at any other time would have had the physicist recoiling. Today, Rodney matched that look and had the grimy-man doing the recoiling. Rodney had been pissed from day one. Day one was long gone and pissed was escalating toward fright. Rodney was tired, sore, and occasionally catching himself verging on losing hope. They'd finally managed to scratch up a few leads, with results being monotonous stories about how Sheppard was 'put in his place being an off-worlder and all.' Reporting these leads was enough to keep Caldwell content so long as he remained naïve to just how useless the leads really were. Nothing that involved flat out lying, but remaining vague on all the details was what was keeping this search alive.

It was also keeping Rodney's hopes stoked. The leads took them no where, but at least they confirmed that Sheppard was still out there somewhere. Rodney would take a thousand useless leads just to know that Sheppard was alive. Alive and being systematically abused by the people of this planet.

 _Bastards._ _All of them._

Rodney rubbed one arm against the cold. Ronon just stood there – his lordship of stoicism – looking less impassive wearing a scowl on his face. The runner was setting an impressive standard for himself by not even curling his lip in disgust. That had been the fourth guy they'd come across for the past two days that had freely admitted, with out compunction but with a lot of pride, to having done something demeaning and painful to Sheppard. The first man to come up and speak of his encounter with the colonel, Ronon had had to be restrained by Teyla to keep from breaking the man's neck.

Rodney made up his mind and turned to finish the rest of his journey back into the inn, with Ronon following three paces behind.

Everyone was gathered in the larger room, Teyla included sitting on the corner of Rodney's bed.

Rodney ran his hand through his hair and dropped down on the other corner across from Teyla. " Ran into another member of the 'I roughed up Sheppard' fanclub. I'm starting to think it's high time we let Ronon do all the talking."

The Satedan had gone for leaning against the wall rather than sitting. He smirked ferally.

" I don't think even a knock from Ronon is going to jog any further memories any time soon," Lorne replied. " All these people are going to remember is how good it felt to beat up an off-worlder, not where and when they did it. But at least it gives us something to report. What I find odd is that we've been here I don't even know how many days and we've yet to come across any recent sighting of Colonel Sheppard. Either he's damn good at hiding or damn good at keeping ahead of us." Lorne turned his head enough to look at Caul sitting stiffly on the end of his own bed. " Is there a chance he could have been kidnapped again? Maybe retrieved by your buddies for a little payback?"

Caul blinked and gaped nervously for a second. " Uh... possibly. There's no certainty to it – it is a big city – but I wouldn't doubt the chance."

" Any idea where they might be holding up now?" Ronon asked.

Caul shrugged. " Not really. Until the next job, we always bounced around from place to place. The thing is, now that word is spreading of your seeking Colonel Sheppard and that there's a reward involved, you won't have to find them. They'll find you." Caul shifted and held up a finger. " There's a setback to it. Whether they have him or not, it'll just be the same game with them. They'll demand payment first for Sheppard, and you either get him back, they demand more payment, or run."

" We know how the game is played this time around," Ronon said.

Lorne nodded. " And I think those two mules you brought to lug the crates would be real quick about recognizing who we are. They're going to be a problem for us. If we encounter any one of them, we don't hesitate to grab them and have them taken to the Daedalus for holding. If they end up not being worth the effort of capture, at least the interrogations should buy us some time."

Rodney leaned forward to put his arms on his knees so he could clasp his hands together. " Phantom results."

" At least it's buying us time," Lorne said. He stood and headed for the door. " My turn to grab dinner."

Ronon moved to drop onto his own bed where he pulled out his weapon to begin cleaning, which in turn made Caul go a little stiffer. Rodney preoccupied himself by staring at his hands. He was distantly aware of the movement of his bed from Teyla shifting to sit beside him.

" Are you all right, Dr. McKay?"

Rodney furrowed his brow in a semi-scowl. " No, I'm not all right. After another day of hearing about how some gutter trash gave Sheppard a bloody nose do you honestly think I'm doing all right?" He flinched at his own harsh tone and shook his head. " Sorry, I'm... Sorry. It's just... I'm kind of getting beyond pissed here." Rodney threw his hands up to let them drop back onto his lap. " I mean it's like we're chasing a shadow. There he is and then there he goes. He's fifty steps ahead and we're dropping back to a hundred behind. And it's freaky. Don't ask me why, but it all feels freaky. Kind of like walking into a place where you expect a whole bunch of people to be – like a bar or something – and finding it completely empty. He's out there, but he's not. And for all we know all the beatings finally got to him and he's lying in a ditch somewhere..." Rodney refused to finish the sentence let alone the thought. He felt the light weight of a slender-fingered hand on his shoulder.

" I do not think he is," Teyla said. " And I do not say this simply to keep our hopes alive. It is a feeling, and a strong one. We both know Colonel Sheppard is a strong survivor. But more than that... though it is difficult to explain... I believe I would know if something has happened to him, if he were dead. I do not know if it is the part of me that can sense wraith that tells me this, or simply a connection born of our friendship, but it has never proven wrong in the past, for any of you, though sometimes I do not always listen to it. But I am listening now."

Rodney found Teyla's word comforting, both because he found it plausible enough that Teyla could have some sort of connection to Sheppard and the rest of the team, and also because he wanted to believe as it was better than letting his pessimism have the last word in everything. Doom and gloom Rodney gave into doom and gloom because – facing facts – he liked to vent. But hope motivated him, and right now he would take whatever he could to motivate hope.

SGA

John kicked his feet over the solid ground scraping the dirt to alternate with the crunching of his footfalls. The crisp air that had struck his face like a slap on stepping out now caressed his cheeks with frigid fingers. It frosted his breath into curls and clouds matching colors with the drab grave-gray sky. He felt a gaze on his back like a small weight that was more of a comfort than an annoyance. A presence that wouldn't let him feel alone. Maj was watching from somewhere, probably not avidly like a hawk watching prey, but enough to keep John's presence in her awareness – like a parent would a child. John knew the difference like night and day, instilled in him between the hateful eyes of enemies and the loving eyes of his mother. John could have felt awkward about Maj's subtle protectiveness, even insulted – he wasn't a child, even if he was just a kid in her older eyes – but he didn't. He didn't mind it, and on this alien world, light-years from home and familiarity, he rather appreciated it.

Seriously, how often did one come upon a sense of safety on an otherwise hostile world? Maj's kindness he wrapped around himself like a blanket, holding in the sanity, pooling his tolerance that enabled him to have patience for the time when Maj's pass arrived and they could head back to the gate. And he liked Maj, enjoyed her wit and her ways. If one had to be stranded on some distant world, then this was the way to do it - with someone who had your back.

But it hurt that he couldn't figure a way to repay her. Maybe invite her to Atlantis, show her around...

The air nipped at John's bare finger-tips and he flexed them, getting the blood to flow and remove the stiffness. He headed to the pile of un-chopped wood still in the wagon, and hefted up the tallest, thickest log in the bunch. He set it on the stump, then stepped back wrapping his fingers around the ornate handle of the bladed sticks. He slid the sticks from his belt smoothly and gave both a twirl. He then positioned his feet as Teyla had taught him in the proper fighting stance with the sticks loose at his sides.

With a quick recall of the moves, John began the dance. He spun, slashing, light flashing off the silver blade like white lightening, and the top of the wood flew off from a clean slice that startled John. John looked at the keen edge of the blade, then at the wobbling wood that remained standing, and whistled.

" Damn. That's freakin' cool." He resumed the motions that were slightly off and a little rigid from ill-used muscles and lingering weakness. But that didn't spare the wood from getting chipped, shredded, and sliced into wood-chips. The larger chunks he tossed up to swipe at them, cutting them clean in two.

John tired quicker – too quick as far as he was concerned – than what he was used to when sparring with Teyla. His breath was heavy, sweat soaked him, and his muscles twitched with minute tremors. But he didn't stop, he simply reduced his amount of exertion, even removed the heavy coat to decrease the excess body heat. He was back to wearing his now mended black, long-sleeved shirt, with another long-sleeved shirt over that with a collar that hung low on his chest. He took another piece of wood and set it on the stump. He moved through the motions methodically, rehearsing the moves minus inflicting damage to the wood.

The air was sharper surrounding his sweat-drenched body, and he liked it, liked the way it stung his lungs and made his blood run fast. He even liked the dull ache pulsing through his ribs. It was a bombardment of sensation that gave him something to fight, dredging up more surges of adrenaline to keep the trembling at a minimum. Carson would say he was probably overtaxing himself, yet John didn't care. Motion was also good in maintaining the sanity. John would admit to being a bit of a control freak, and when situations were beyond his control, taking his frustration out on punching bags, opponent's sticks, and helpless pieces of wood helped him find a modicum of control.

In his current situation, being temporarily cut off from Atlantis was only half the problem. His recovering body made up the other half. His technique wasn't what it used to be, but at least he was remedying that.

John attempted another clean swipe through the wood, but his exhausted arm only got the blade half-way through. John yanked the blade, but the blade refused to relent. With a frown of annoyance, John set the wood on the ground, his foot on the wood, and pulled. The blade jerked free and John stumbled a step back.

" And the wood fights back."

John looked up and over his right shoulder to see Mris sauntering toward him, carrying a basket under one arm and supported against her hip. John gave her a neutral nod of greeting then returned the wood to the stump.

" I'm starting to suspect," she said, moving around to be in his peripheral vision, " that you were telling the truth when you said you were a soldier."

" Am," John said, stepping back to restart the moves, " _am_ a soldier."

Mris pursed her lips and nodded. " If you say so."

John glanced her way to flash her a quick and bitter smile. " Do want something or you just hard up for pointless conversation?"

Mris shrugged and sidled up a little closer while at the same time maintaining a safe distance from the blades. Her casual smile remained fixed to her face. " I'm curious by nature. And I have discovered – by nature – that most folk tend to be liars."

John's arm paused in mid-air right before the down-swing. He gave Mris an incredulous look. " Gee, pessimistic much?" He shook his head and finished the move. " But I won't argue with you on that one. And since I don't have much in the way of proof that would change your mind, you can believe what you want. It's not as though it's a life or death situation anyways. Besides," John grinned crookedly, " I prefer it when people underestimate me."

" I didn't say I underestimate you," Mris said, " I just don't trust you."

John shifted into a better stance, and twitched his head. " Well at least you're honest. Seriously, you need something?" He fell back into rhythm. " Because if you do, I'm not the one you want to be talking to."

" Actually, that would depend on what it is I want."

John stepped back and wiped his moist brow with his sleeve. Sweat pulled the cold air through his clothes, and he shivered. " No, it wouldn't. You're not the only one with trust issues." He raised his arm for a swing, found it to be trembling from fatigue, so dropped it at his side. His breath streamed out fog on each heavy exhale. A drop of sweat tickled down his back, aggravating his nerves that were already on edge due to Mris' presence. She was up to something. In fact, she was of the type that was forever up to something. And rather than trying to figure out what that 'something' was, it was better just to keep snubbing her until she finally got it through her head that she wasn't going to get any verbal – and beyond – kicks from him.

" So I ask again," he said. " Need something?"

Mris tilted her head to one side as though regarding something about him that would determine the outcome of her answer. It gave John the impression that she was studying him, and not in that sizing-up kind of way. This wasn't a casual scrutiny, or an appraisal. Her gaze pierced deeper, dissecting him, making mental inventory of every movement down to the smallest twitch of a facial muscle. John knew when he was being visually picked apart. Mris was subtle about it, but she couldn't hide the concentration being betrayed by her eyes.

After a minute of silence, Mris' eyes finally returned to John's face. " I need nothing." She raised one shoulder and let it drop. " I just thought that – perhaps – an opportunity to build trust should be presented."

" You mean get to know one another."

Mris inclined her head. " Precisely. I'm not like most folk here. I like to give the new people a chance, allow them to feel welcome."

 _I bet,_ John thought, but kept his mouth shut. He had the sudden suspicion that Mris wasn't the only one trying to get to know John. He lifted his arm with the intent of resuming the moves, but could barely hold the blade so lowered it back down.

" What about Jorsek?" he asked, flexing his wrist.

" What about him?" Mris asked.

" He interested in getting to know me too? Call me paranoid but I have this sneaking suspicion that he might have sent you."

Mris smirked. " I assure you, Mr. Sheppard, I sent myself."

John looked over at her, and gave her a smirk in return. " But people are liars by nature, remember?"

John saw it then. A momentary flicker like a candle being snuffed. It was too fast to determine if it had been anger or unease, but it had been something, a hairline crack in the mask with more betrayal than a written and signed confession. John now knew what Mris was up to. Although now that he was on to her, he doubted she would let up any time soon. This was a reconnaissance mission, and Mris didn't seem the type to give up, period.

Too bad for her, John didn't give up either. He was stranded on an alien world, surrounded by potential hostiles. His guard was up mountain high and was going to stay up until he finally left this rock.

Mris took a deep breath in preparation to say something. Movement within the woods caught John's eye, and he snapped his head up, his arm along with it to halt Mris' future words. John squinted into the murk of the forest and a shadow-cloaked form hovering before the entrance to the knacker shed. The form seemed to be struggling with something, taking its sweet time to enter until it finally vanished through the door. Curiosity moved John forward, caution compelled him to go slow. He approached the shed with its adornments of animal heads and hides, and pressed his ear to a chink between two slats of the wall. He heard heavy breathing, and low, whispering mumbles.

" I don't want to be here!" came a second voice, a child's voice, six, maybe seven years old. The mumbling, adult male voice snarled something, and the child whined out an "ow, stop it!" John's breath caught in his throat. He pulled away from the wall, shoved the blades into his belt, and stalked around the shed to burst through the entrance.

A man a couple years older than John snapped straight and wide-eyed as a deer caught in the headlights. The man's hair was cut short, almost shaved, and receding far back from the forehead. One side of his round face was pockmarked by scars from his temple to jaw, and his right eye was less blue and more sludgey gray as though damaged.

In front of the man, sprawled on a pile of old skins, was a small girl with braided dark brown to be almost black hair under a scarf, dressed in a faded yellow skirt and fur-lined cream colored coat. The coat was open, and the lace-lined collar of her white button blouse was torn.

Cold shock erupted into white-hot rage that got John's hands moving without him to the handles of the bladed sticks. He pulled them out on stepping into the shed, metal hissing against his belt. He towered over the man, keeping his arms loose at his sides but the blades tight in his grip, and glaring bullets. The man rose and stepped back, so John stepped forward.

" What the _hell_ do you think you're doing _?"_ John said, cold and venomous. The man's throat bobbed in a convulsive swallow, and he took another step back until he met the wall. He glanced around wildly for an escape route until his eyes settled on something to the man's right. He moved fast leaning to the side and snatching up a pair of antlers that he hurled at John. John ducked the horns that glanced off his shoulder, tearing through both shirts to slice the skin of his shoulder blade. The man took the opportunity to bolt, shoving John into the wall and out of the way.

John pushed off from the wall and stepped outside, but the man had gone beyond sight for John to give chase. It didn't matter in the long run. The man's face wasn't the kind John would be forgetting any time soon. He went back into the shed, sliding the blades into his belt, then crouching in front of the little girl adjusting her coat back around her small form. John looked her over, but saw no visible cuts or bruises.

" You all right?" he asked.

The girl nodded as she buttoned up her coat. " Yeah, I am. Mr. Leyn kept trying to tear my shirt, so I kicked him a lot. That's what Dev said I should do if Mr. Leyn tried to take me into some dark place. He said I needed to kick him a lot. Dev's my brother. Mr. Leyn almost got him, but Dev kicked him a lot so got away." The girl smoothed out her coat, unperturbed and seemingly more concerned making certain the coat was aligned right. " Mr. Leyn isn't very bright, and panics a lot. I used to be good at staying away from him, but he snuck up on me when I went to go feed the Klin." the girl pushed herself back to her feet, sliding a bit on the mound of fur. John also rose and held out his hand, which she took without compunction and pulled herself up to step carefully from the pile. She wiped her hands off on the back of her coat, then dusted off her skirt.

John furrowed his brow thoughtfully. " This Mr. Leyn... Does he do this kind of... uh... stuff a lot? Take kids I mean?"

The girl nodded. " That's what Dev says, and Jany, and Niel. They say he calls it a game, but no one likes it. I'm not exactly sure what it is Mr. Leyn does, but it can't be good if your clothes get ripped. Dev agrees." The girl pulled the collar of her coat out enough to look into it, and stuck out her bottom lip in consternation. " Mum's not going to like this. This is my new shirt."

Finally, she looked up at John to regard him with large, brown, fearless eyes. She stuck out her small mittened hand, smiling. " Thank you for chasing him off."

John took her hand, giving it a brief, gentle squeeze. " It's what I do... Chase the bad guys off, I mean."

The girl dropped her hand and just stared at John, but not in the vacant way of a child confronted by an interesting stranger. This girl had no qualms concerning eye contact, or staring though she had to practically bend her neck in half just to look up at him.

She blinked. " You're tall."

John grinned, and positioned his hand to hover above the girl's head. " Maybe you're just short." He dropped his hand back to his side. " What's your name?"

" Kari. What's yours?"

" John. John Sheppard."

Kari fell into another stint of momentary, silent scrutiny. " I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

John shoved his hands into his pockets. " Pretty much. Maj brought me here. Do you know Maj?"

Kari beamed and nodded enthusiastically. " Uh-huh! She's the one who travels to other worlds. She always brings back neat stuff, like this candy that's really hard on the outside but kind of chewy inside, and her iaret is really cute and doesn't bite..."

" Wanna go see her?" John jumped in ending the happy tirade. Kari nodded again, so John jerked his head in the direction of the door. " Come on. We'll go wait in her house until we can get your parents to come."

Kari took John's hand without hesitation as they both headed out from the shed. John's gaze went straight to the area around the stump, but Mris was no where to be seen. He highly doubted she'd gone skipping off to bring back the local authorities.

John's diminishing adrenaline rush was taking his body heat with it, and he started shivering continually when a cold wind buffeted him.

" What world are you from?" Kari asked. " Is it pretty?"

John smiled, his teeth chattering. " B-beautiful. The city I live in is surrounded by the ocean."

" Really!" Kari shrilled. " That would be soooo neat living in a city surrounded by water. You could go swimming all the time and fishing and I heard there's really big animals that live under the water. Have you seen any big animals? My brother told me about the ocean, and he knows about it because he reads better than me..." Kari chatted on about creatures as big as houses and as small as her pinky-nail.

Maj stepped out the door onto the small porch and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. " I let you out for a moment and here you are, already up to mischief, stealing away the children of our fair town."

Kari stiffened and bristled at this, stamping her booted foot. " He didn't steal me! Mr. Leyn stole me. Mr. Sheppard's bringing me back."

Maj smiled blithely at her. " Then I apologize. Come inside the both of you before you get frozen to the spot."

Maj led the way inside. Stepping across the threshold, warm air slammed into John, melting the cold off is skin but slow about penetrating to his core. Kari released John's hand to scurry over to the table and plop herself into a chair. John was more tentative about it, easing down into the seat adjacent to the small girl. Kari shifted from sitting to kneeling on the seat in order to be a little higher. She launched into her tale about how Mr. Leyn had taken her, and how John had rescued her as Maj pulled a bottle of a cream-colored liquid like off-white milk and poured it into a pot. She set the pot to boil on the stove-top, then vanished into the living room, returning with two blankets. One she set around Kari, and the other she was about to put on John's back when she paused, then immediately set the blanket on the chair next to John.

" Seems your little adventure hasn't left you unscathed," she said. She shifted her bustling about to gathering the needed mashed herbs, cloth, and heated water to clean the wound on John's shoulder blade. Kari's story ended, and she became enthralled in Maj's ministrations. Maj pulled John's two shirts up to his shoulder and had him hold it there as she cleaned the wound and applied the poultice. John winced only once during the cleaning.

Maj had John keep the shirt raised long enough to allow the poultice to dry. She shifted gears back to the now warmed milky liquid, adding various sweet smelling spices, one of which reminded John of nutmeg. The off-white liquid became a more cinnamon color, and Maj poured it into two mugs. She brought the mugs to John and Kali.

" Thank you miss Maj," Kali said, pulling her mug to her. She bombarded John with questions concerning his city, if it was big, if there were lots of people, and if he'd seen any of the creatures that lived in the ocean.

" You have a lot of scars," she said, then took a big gulp from her mug, holding the liquid in her mouth, looking like a squirrel with jowls stuffed with nuts, until she finally swallowed. " Are you a soldier?"

John smiled. " That I am." He took a sip of the milk that had a nutty, pleasant flavor to it, neither too strong or too weak.

" You looked like a soldier when you chased Mr. Leyn away."

John chuckled before taking another sip. " Glad someone believes me about that aspect of my life."

Maj sat at the table with her own mug in hand. " And why would that not be believed? You can lower your shirt now."

John adjusted his shirt one handed around his back. Maj handed him the blanket and he swung it around his shoulders. " I'm assuming you noticed that Mris girl hanging around?"

Maj drank from her mug, narrowing her eyes. " I did."

" Well, she seems determined to argue the fact with me."

" Don't give her the satisfaction," Maj said.

" I'm trying."

Maj lowered her mug back to the table and leaned in some. " Seriously, John, you need to be careful of Mris. She may be open to the affections of everyone, but it's Jorsek's arm she likes to hang from the most. You can't trust either of those two where you're concerned. You're a stranger here, not just to this village but this world as well. He'll try to find fault with every step you take and with every blink of your eyes. As an enforcer, the man takes off-worlder prejudices quite seriously. He's as paranoid as the rest but tends to go about it differently, in a way that you wouldn't _think_ he was paranoid, just cruel." Maj sat back and sighed. " His father used to fill his head with nonsense concerning off-worlders invading our planet to take it from us. He's developed a bit of an over zealous, patriotic nature in him. Makes him think himself justified in what he does to folk in the name of security. He's a dangerous one, John, which is why I prefer it that you don't go out much. The less interaction you have with the man, the better."

John took another sip of his own drink. The warmth of the liquid oozed from his esophagus and stomach to melt the cold within him. " Hey, I'm all for avoiding the local creeps." John shook his head. " There's one on every freakin' planet."

Kari scrunched up her nose. " What's 'freakin' mean?"

John chuckled softly and shook his head. " Nothing, actually. It's just a word I tend to say when I get upset about something."

" Why don't I go contact your parents, dear," Maj said, rising. She headed from the kitchen to go upstairs to her room where the Ioth equivalent of a telephone was kept. Maj had showed it to John, familiarizing him to how it worked in case of emergencies and all that. The thing was like a CB radio but with a listening end so that people didn't have to say 'over' each time. Like a telephone, Iothian numbers were used to make the right connection.

Kari shifted around in her seat like a typical, squirmy kid of her years, quietly humming a little tune. " Have you seen the Iarets in the canyon yet?" she asked in her high-toned little voice. " It's really neat when you toss meat to them, and they dive out of the air," Kari raised her hand, fingers spread, above her head then dropped it down fast toward the table. " Whoosh! Like that, and grab it out of the air before it even falls. Then when you go down into the ravine, they won't attack you."

" Sounds neat," John said.

" Uh-huh. My dad hunts, and he always goes up to the cliffs to get rid of what's left, and gives us some meat to throw to the iarets. We're going tomorrow, so you could go with us if you want. My dad hasn't let us come a lot 'cause he can't get a lot of help, and get's worried 'cause of all the people disappearing, so doesn't like us going up to the cliffs without someone. And mum can't come 'cause of my baby brother who was born last month. But if you went, my dad might let us go to the cliffs."

It sounded fascinating enough, and if one had no choice but to hang around an alien world for a while, then one might as well take the opportunity to see the sights.

" How far away is it?" John asked.

" Not far. Just up the road."

John sucked in a breath through his teeth. " I'm gonna need something more... precise than that. Does it take most of the day? Half of the day?"

Kari shook her head. " No. Not even close to midday when we get there. Sometimes we take a meal if we want to stay a while, but we're never gone for long."

John nodded, thinking on it further. He supposed if he could hack wood to bits and still have energy enough to spook off a pedophile, he could take a walk to these cliffs. But he would wait to see what Maj had to say. Kids tended to either over or under exaggerate, and with John's current strength not up to par, the difference in a kilometer here or there could make all the difference.

Maj came down the stairs before John had a choice to voice his desire to wait before deciding.

" Your brother'll be coming for you, Kari dear." She said.

" Hey Maj," John said. " How far is it to these Iaret cliffs?"

" I asked Mr. Sheppard if he'd like to come when dad takes the dead animal bodies out," said Kari.

Maj seemed to perk at this. " Not a bad idea, Kari. I think Mr. Sheppard might like going to the cliffs."

John gave Maj a questioning look. " Um... You sure?"

Maj nodded as she headed to the stove to deal with the left over milk. " Quite. You won't be alone, you'll be armed, and most of the disappearances have been occurring on the north side of the town. Mr. Arvlan would also appreciate the company. Since the vanishings began, few have been willing to venture with him to dispose of the beast carcasses. It's mostly just him and his brother pulling the sledge. He could use an extra set of eyes. And he always likes a reason to bring the children. A good man, Mr. Arvlan. Not one for making confrontation, mostly since he tends to be a bit timid. The exercise would do you good, put a little more color back into your skin."

Sounded like good enough reasons for John. He hated being idle, and though it wasn't exactly helping Maj out, it was still helping in one form or another.

" All right then," he said. " I'll go."

Kari bolted out of her chair and up to John to throw her arms around his neck. " Thank you Mr. Sheppard!" Then she bolted to the door when they heard a knock. Maj didn't have a chance to answer it. Kari pulled it open then rushed outside, closing it behind her, her words drifting to them before the door was completely shut.

" Dev, guess what...!"

Maj shook her head with a small chuckle. She carried the saucepan to the metal basin of the sink. " Another day that passes is another day I'm glad I saved you. You did a good thing helping Kari like that."

John wrapped his hands around the still warm mug. " It was kind of a given. That guy was gonna..." Sheppard couldn't say it. The very thought made his stomach knot up. " She's feakin' six years old. A baby. Who the hell tries to do that to a baby and gets away with it?" John cocked his eyes up at Maj. " He won't get away with it, right? I mean, Kari's dad'll be pretty pissed..."

Maj didn't say anything as she switched on the water and proceeded to clean the pan. John narrowed his eyes.

" Maj?"

" Mr. Arvlan will be angry," Maj said. " He will take his complaints to the council..."

John's stomach knotted tighter. " But? Ah hell, don't tell me they'll dismiss it."

Maj turned and leaned back against the sink with both hands gripping the rim. " No, they won't dismiss it, not right off. They'll look into it, ask Kari questions. Knowing Kari, she tell them everything, including how you saved her. Then they'll come and question you. But since you didn't actually _see_ Mr. Leyn _do_ anything to Kari except hold her down..." Maj shook her head. " They might incarcerate Mr. Leyn for a time. And I stress _might_. It all depends on whether or not he manages to convince others to believe his side of the story. Gather allies as it were. When it comes to matters of crime, you might say that a bit of a war ensues. It becomes less of a matter of law and proof, and more of a matter of persuasion. And Mr. Leyn is quite clever about getting others to take his side. When a parent comes to complain of what Leyn has done to their child, Leyn will whine and hide behind village prejudices against those from the city. He'll say he's being falsely accused because he is from the capital, that these parents are looking for any means by which to throw him out. If that doesn't work – and in truth it hasn't – then he goes for a secondary means... fear."

John shifted in his seat, sitting straighter. " Fear?"

" Intimidation. Frighten the children he abused, frighten the parents, even frighten the weakest willed people of the village to become false witnesses. My guess is that he uses bribery of some sort to get several of the enforcers on his side. And he's not the only one, John. Since the city has been forcing its citizens out into the wilds villages, things have been gradually decreasing in terms of morals. If a man is clever enough, he can get away with quite a bit, and never get punished for it. When one comes to rely on lecherous cunning as a means of survival, they tend to stick with what works. Most of these people forced upon us are _criminals_ , John." Maj's voice had taken on a tone of distress. " _Criminals_ , with no proof against them. So rather than deal with them in the city, they are dumped on us. And the closer a village is to the city, the more of these criminals that are sent our way."

" And there's nothing you can do about it?"

Maj snorted. " There would be if the council weren't such bloodless cowards. In my younger years, the head of the council then had been a man named Koryek. And let me tell you, he wasn't a man to cross. He put the city-sent in there place, and upheld the laws with a strong fist. Then someone ups and kills him – in his own home, while he slept – and we haven't had a brave soul since to continue what he was doing. I tell you, it's as though once these people get beyond the city, they actually believe they are free to do whatever they wish." Maj's eyes became distant as she stared at a point beyond John. " Perhaps they are right."

Maj turned back to the sink to finish cleaning. The knot in John's stomach became a clenching pretzel, leaving him no more appetite to finish the rest of the milk. Which was just as well. It had finally gone cold.

TBC...


	13. Iaret Cliffs

John slipped the bladed sticks into his belt before pulling on the heavy coat. Behind him, Maj bustled at the table placing a crust of dark brown bread, strips of salted meat, and a small jar of some sort of pickled fruit into a cloth sack next to bottle-like canteen of water. She tied the small sack off, and handed both it and the canteen over to John. Both items were small enough to fit in either pocket of the coat.

" You take it easy out there, John," Maj said. " It's not a long walk, but rest when you feel the need to, and don't overdo it on the exertion. It's your body that determines how much it wants to endure, not your mind."

John smiled at her. " I'll be good... _mom_."

Maj jabbed him in the shoulder with her finger and smirked. " You'd better be, young man. I'll not have my efforts to bring you back from the dead go to waste. Now you and that smart mouth of yours be off. Mr. Arvlan and the kids will be here soon."

John stepped through the back door from the caressing warmth into the assaulting cold that pricked at the skin of John's face and crawled down his throat to his lungs. He headed left around the house to stand right on the line between smooth pact road and wild earth bordered by dead grasses that bent and crunched under his feet. He waited there for what he guessed to be three to four minutes, hands in pockets fingering the food bundle and canteen, when he heard the clattering thump of six feet and the high-toned idle chatter of excited children. A minute later the tawny lyret drawn sledge piled high with skeletal carcasses moved into sight.

The two kids ran ahead of the sledge. The smaller one reached John first, and the taller one slowed with apparent caution.

" Mr. Sheppard!" Kari said, wrapping her small, mittened hands around John's arm and tugging. " Mr. Sheppard, Mr. Sheppard. This is my brother, Dev."

The boy resumed approaching but at a nonchalant walk. He looked around nine or ten, wiry, a head and a half taller than his sister, with wisps of dark brown hair sticking out under the black knit cap covering his head. He nodded a greeting to John, but didn't really say anything. Not out of bashfulness. Nothing about the boy struck John as being bashful. It was more along the lines of the boy refusing to speak until he was good and ready to. John didn't blame him. John was a stranger and an off-worlder to boot, and this kid wasn't naïve.

John nodded in return. " Dev."

The children's father finally caught up to them, tugging hard on the lyret's lead to keep the stubborn beast moving. Mr. Arvlan was shorter than John by half a foot, wiry, sharp-featured, and blue-eyed. He was dressed in a dark olive colored coat, heavy tan trousers, and had a wine-red knit cap covering his scalp.

" Morning!" he called. " You must be the famous Mr. Sheppard Kari hasn't stopped talking about."

John smiled. " Seeing as how I haven't run into any other Mr. Sheppards, I guess that would be me."

Mr. Arvlan held out one hand covered by a heavy leather glove. John took it, and the two clasped rather than shook. Two other men who'd remained partially unseen on the other side of the high pile of bones ragged with meat scraps stepped into John's line of sight. The man with the dark brown beard and Arvlan's height introduced himself as Arvlan's brother. The second, slightly taller man with the chest length black beard was a friend of Arvlan's and in the hide-tanning business.

With the introductions past, they proceeded up the road until they were walled in by the bare-limbed trees. The iaret kept turning its head toward the carcasses and Arvlan kept yanking it back. " Stop it, Kessle," he growled. " I'd like to thank you, Mr. Sheppard, for helping my daughter like you did. She told us what Leyn attempted."

John shrugged, keeping an informal pace on the other side of the stubborn lyret's head. " It's kind of a given that you don't stand by and let crap like that happen. Have you told anyone about it yet? Enforcers, the council?"

Arvlan glanced at the ground uncomfortably. " Not... Not quite yet."

John frowned. " Look, if the committee's hard up on needing proof, I'll gladly testify against this Leyn creep..."

" It's not that," Arvlan said. " I've been trying to rally a few other folk who've had grievances against Leyn, but they won't come forth about it. On the one hand, you have the brainless soft hearts who pity Leyn. As a boy, Leyn contracted a nasty illness, and most attribute his mental inabilities to the disease. But if you ask me, Leyn's never been right, and that over indulging mother of his only made it worse. Mrs. Leyn's boy can never do wrong in her sights. They all call Leyn an incompetent and say what he does can't be his fault, but Leyn is far bleedin' smarter than he lets on."

" The man's a thief!" Arvlan's brother snarled. " He comes into my shop, and come inventory, I'm missing several items. And it's only when Leyn comes. An incompetent wouldn't have the needed skills to slip off with so much."

John looked from one man to the other. " What's the other hand?"

" Leyn is Velek's older brother, and Velek is part of Jorsek's patrol. Folk get unnerved at the prospect of going up against one of the patrol. They're hard men, know how to fight, and Velek tends toward being overly protective of his 'invalid' brother," Arvlan stated flatly. " Leyn's also quite good at playing on folk's sympathies."

John's mind went back to what Maj had to say about Leyn. " Leyn is from the city, right?"

Arvlan nodded. " He is. I believe Leyn was in his teens when they came. I was barely out of childhood myself. I recall my mother tiring of hearing his mother go on and on about the illness Leyn survived. They were a rich family, so don't know why they came out here. Rumor has it that most who get tossed from the capital to the wilds did something to deserve it."

" So I've heard too," said John. " So there's basically nothing you can do?"

Arvlan shook his head. " Go to the committee, scrounge for proof. Your testimony might put Leyn in confinement for a time, but his family would fight it, plead for him using his incompetence."

John looked at Arvlan in alarm. " What the hell kind of justice as that? Maj told me Leyn's been incarcerated on more than one occasion. I'd think your council would start catching on to something being damn wrong by now and do something about it," he said, then added under his breath, " Or the town folk string him up themselves."

Arvlan shrugged and that was it. John had the feeling that Arvlan was out of options, but didn't want to all out admit it. John wanted to argue a little more motivation into Arvlan to do something that would put that Leyn guy away for good. Or at least toss the guy out on his ass in the wilds for the beasts to hunt down. One would think a village holding no compunctions toward jumping the nearest off-worlder that stepped out of line and skinning him would show just as little restraint in dealing with a pedophile.

John would have said he was missing something here, except that he wasn't. Both Maj and Arvlan had made it clear without stating it outright.

Life in the wilds was just as screwed up as it was in the city. The bad guys won because they played dirty, the good guys lost because they refused to. John had to admire Arvlan. The man wanted justice but was realistic about it. Doubtless it was eating him up inside, and doubtless he was trying to settle for just being glad that someone had interceded before any real harm was done to his daughter. Arvlan wasn't a spineless man, he was a cautious man.

" So you're an off-worlder?" Arvlan asked with a general fascinated inquisitiveness that was suspicion free. " Went off world once myself as a child. Lovely planet, nice weather and the most marvelous market – like being on multiple worlds at once. I never could understand folk's edginess about off-worlders after that. Friendly bunch for the most part. I recall one man selling rugs who had a tail, honest to goodness tail that he could pick up things with..."

It was amiable chatter all the way to the cliffs and Arvlan and his brother recounted everything they could remember about going off world. The path inclined so gradually that it was barely noticed by the naked eye, though felt by John's limbs being forced to put in the extra exertion. It went straight for a ways, then curved around with the incline becoming less gradual. The trees grew sparse and the ground more rocky until the remaining trees opened up onto the cliff edge and a wide panorama of the valley all the way to the blue-gray mountains frosted nearly to the base with snow.

Arvlan stopped seven feet from the edge, and hauled a basket of gristle and fat chunks from off the end of the sledge. " Here kids. Why don't you take Mr. Sheppard on up to the Lookout and show him how to feed the iarets."

John helped the kids drag the basket up the smaller incline to the upper part of the cliffs, passing through a small copes of young, naked trees. An outcropping of rock jutted like a spear head out over the ravine thirty feet below. John stepped onto this outcropping, peering down at the thin thread of dark silver water walled in by a wide, flat shore of rock. A path zig-sagged down along the cliff face, starting just at where the outcropping began.

The cliff face across the ravine was dotted with larges nests of branches and mud, set in alcoves that looked as though they'd been gouged into the rock face by claws. Within the nests were what appeared to be lumps, each nest occupied by a different colored lump. The sound of scraping pulled John's attention to the two kids dragging the basket of meat out onto the bluff. Kari grabbed what looked like a shredded haunch and joined Sheppard at the bluff's edge. Dev joined her carrying a lump of gristly meat in one hand. The other hand he brought to his mouth with the forefinger and pinky finger to his lips, and let out a shrill whistle that echoed like a shot off the canyon walls.

The lumps in the nests sprouted heads similar to Ris' head, except these creatures were nowhere near the size of Ris. The creatures reacted like startled birds, bursting into the air all at once with clicks and gutteral chirps. John stepped back in alarm, which made Kari giggle.

" It's all right, Mr. Sheppard," she said, and tossed the haunch as far as her little arms could chuck it. The haunch sailed out over the ravine. In the next instance, a red-brown body snatched it out of midair. Dev tossed his chunk higher and an iaret shot upward a foot from the cliff to grab it. Again, John stepped back, amazed and a little nervous. These creatures were the size of horses, with forearms the length of their hind legs, and wings that made the air buzz with each flap, air John felt gusting against him. He felt something tug his coat, and looked down at Kari holding up a chunk of meat for him.

" You try, Mr. Sheppard."

John gave her an uneasy smile, and took the slimy hunk of muscle and fat. He drew his arm back as he would when tossing a football, and hurled the meat putting a spiral to it. The meat nearly reached the other side of the ravine when it was snatched by a white and gold iaret. Kari squealed with laughter, and even Dev grinned.

" That was a good throw," the boy said, sincerely impressed.

John shrugged, crouching to grab another piece of meat. " I've tossed farther."

" If you hold the meat up high," Kari said, " they take it right out of your hand."

John gave her an incredulous look. " With or without taking your arm?"

" Just try it, Mr. Sheppard."

" Yeah," said Dev. " I've done it before."

Trepidatious but still curious, John shrugged and stretched his arm as high as he could without his ribs pulling. A blue-violet iaret whipped by close overhead, the gust of air from its wings pressing down on John's body when the creature took the meat from John's hand using its back claws, then dove straight down back to its nest. Wonder-induced adrenaline surged through John's body, making his heart pound and forcing an amazed smile on his face whether he liked it or not.

" That," he said, wagging a finger in the direction the iaret had gone, " was awesome."

They tossed more meat, making a game of it by seeing how far they could make the meat fly before it was grabbed. All the free food eventually attracted the iarets into landing, clinging to the sides of the outcrop or along the cliff-edge. John's apprehension was short lived when the children expressed no problems with this. They tossed meat straight into iaret mouths, or held it out for the iarets to take in their teeth. The large iarets – unlike their smaller cousins – didn't walk on two limbs but trundled around on four. A silver looking iaret gaped its mouth at John, croaking, and when John tossed it the meat, the iaret downed it like a seal swallowing a fish. John held out another chunk for it. When it took the meat in its teeth, John reached out to touch his fingers to the velvety snout. The creature snorted, swallowed the meat, croaked, and took off. John picked up another chunk, and jumped when a tawny iaret head snaked over his shoulder to grab it.

" They certainly aren't shy," John said.

" We give them food," Dev said. " Why would they be?"

" And no one is allowed to kill them," Kari said. " It would scare them off if we did. They keep away all the really bad beasts, and when the brigands come, they let us know by making a lot of noise. Brigands kill iarets for their skins."

" My dad says the iarets know the brigands because they smell like water and blood," Dev said. " Everyone keeps saying that all the disappearances are because of the brigands, except the iarets haven't been making any noise."

Smaller mini-iarets joined the larger in snagging meat scraps, and did the most landing. They clustered around the humans' feet, hopping up and down, chirping for pittance. John broke off smaller chunks and tossed them like tossing crumbs to ducks. He was able to recognize Ris amongst the little throng by the thin, leather collar around his neck.

John grinned and shook his head. " You little sneak." There were five others sporting collars, but of different makes and colors. " I'm surprised you two don't have one of these little guys."

" We do," said Dev with slight exasperation. " But she's gotten really fat and really old, so she doesn't do much."

" That's why I like Ris," said Kari. " Maj is good at training iarets, and Ris doesn't bite."

John snatched his hand back from the congregating fuzzy lizards. " You don't say?"

The wind from iaret wings buffeted them until not a scrap of meat was left. The three humans moved off the bluff with Dev hauling the basket behind him. Kari pulled moist rags from the small, leather pouch she carried at her waist and handed them out. The rags smelled faintly flowery. John smiled – homemade handwipes. With their hands blood, and germ, free, they were able to sit down to their lunch without the worry of potential bacterium. The kids' little meals tied up in small bundles were similar to John's – bread, meat, fruit, and a small canteen of water, but with a side of some kind of gray lump that smelled like swiss cheese. Out in the ravine, iaret calls resounded in a cacophony of shrills, whistles, croaks, barks, and high-pitched howls.

They sat around the edge of a wide, flat rock and laid their lunch out in the center on the sacks. Dev had brought a knife, and John was able to introduce them to what he considered to be the pinnacle of all culinary inventions – the sandwich.

" So we slice some of this kind of... gray cheese stuff, shred some meat, top it off with a few of these dark leafy green things, and there you go." John lifted the alien sandwich in both hands. " It's small, it's portable, and contains all the major food groups." John took a bite, and if he closed his eyes would have thought he was eating a roast beef sandwich with fresh spinach instead of lettuce. He nodded. " Not bad."

Kari found the entire lesson fascinating, as Dev attempted to pretend otherwise. They sliced bread, gray cheese, shredded meat, and stuck it all together. Dev's was a perfect replica of Sheppard's, Kari's was was dripping bits out the back as though it were trying to escape.

" Like this," Dev said, and fixed it for her.

" The meat was running away," Kari giggled, and John grinned.

Like typical kids, Kari and Dev peeled off the crusts as they ate and tossed it to the congregating mini-iarets.

It was when they were packing the leftovers away that Mr. Arvlan came up the small slope announcing that it was time to head home. John wiped his hands off onto his pants and heaved himself to his feet. Kari and Dev took up position on either side of him, with Kari taking his hand.

" Can you come with us the next time dad has to dump meat?" Kari asked.

John shrugged. " Maybe, if I'm still around."

Dev's head snapped around and up at John. " You're leaving?"

" Eventually. I really need to get back to my own world. They're people there who'll be looking for me."

" Your kids?" Kari asked.

John smiled and chuckled. " No. I don't have any kids."

" You don't act like it," Dev said, and John could only assume to take that as a compliment. He chuckled again.

" Well, I've been told on more than one occasion that I'm like a kid trapped in an adult's body."

Dev nodded pensively. " That could be."

" Did some machine make you grow up fast?" said Kari.

Now John laughed. " Although I've heard rumor that devices like that exist, no. It's just a comparison. I tend to be a little more silly than most grown ups."

Kari giggled and pulled on his hand as she swung back and forth on one heel. " Me too!"

Dev rolled his eyes. " You're not a grown-up, Kari."

" But she's obviously silly," John said with a smirk.

They joined up with Mr. Arvlan and the rest, and after a quick review of if the kids had a good time, they started off down the path back to the town.

" What's your world like, Mr. Sheppard?" Dev asked. " Kari said you live in a city surrounded by water. Is that for real?"

" Yup, miles and miles of water. Just don't ask me how. It's... technical stuff. Lots and lots of technical stuff. Okay to listen to if you want to fall asleep, bad if you're trying to stay awake."

That got Dev laughing a little, and Kari letting loose another shrill bout of giggling.

With the blood-slicked sledge no longer weighed down by carcasses, the trip back was a lot faster than the trip going. John told Kari and Dev about Puddle Jumpers, which had snagged Dev's undivided attention, especially the part about how they could go invisible. The boy was wide eyed with wonder and a sudden fountain of questions, such as how fast could they go, and if John would be able to fly one to Ioth to give the kids a ride.

" I doubt your government would be too happy about that," John said. " Although I suppose if I went stealth through the atmosphere rather than the gate," he grinned, " what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them."

Dev took a breath for yet another question, when everything around John seemed to come to a halt. The sledge had stopped, as had the men around it, all looking directly ahead. Beyond the three men approached a group of eight men in heavy coats with rifles on their shoulders. John identified two faces – one hard to miss with its pockmarked skin, the other vivid with auburn hair and beard. John felt the small grip on his hand tighten, and looked down to see the usually unflappable Kari retreat behind Sheppard, peering around his long legs, eyes flashing disdain and fear. Dev moved closer to his little sister, eyes burning with rage.

Jorsek was leading the way toward Arvlan, and as he neared raised his hand either in greeting or to forestall any considerations of violence before they could be acted on.

" Cav Arvlan," Jorsek called. " Thought I'd have to head on up to the cliffs to find you," he said, and smiled congenially.

From where John stood just behind and to the left of the sledge, he couldn't see Arvlan's face, but he could see the man's hand going white tightening on the lyret's lead.

" Jorsek," he said, his tone forcefully neutral. " Can I help you with something?"

Jorsek shook his head. " No no. We came by to make matters right. I believe there is someone who owes you an apology. Leyn!"

Leyn shuffled forward with downcast eyes and a forlorn expression on his messed-up face. Jorsek planted a meaty hand on the shorter man. " Leyn, I believe there's something that needs to be said to Mr. Arvlan here."

Leyn's eyes flicked up then snapped back down. " S-sorry... Mr... Arvlan."

Jorsek gave Arvlan a toothy smile. " There you go, Mr. Arvlan. Leyn is massively sorry for what he nearly did to your little girl there." Jorsek pointed in Kari's direction, and Kari ducked further back behind John's legs. " Been beating himself up for it since the day it happened. Took us a bit of cajoling to get him to come to you, but we knew it was for both your sakes. He's not a bad mad, Mr. Arvlan. The man's simply cursed to making more mistakes than average folk. It isn't his fault. I hope you can find it in your heart not to make claim of violence before the committee..."

So John was finally able to witness what it was Maj and Arvlan had been talking about, and it pissed him off.

" Stay here, you two," he said, and stepped forward until he was standing next to Arvlan. Leyn promptly recoiled and stepped away out of reach.

" ... imprisonment's yet to help his situation..." Jorsek's friendly smirk and hard gaze shifted onto John. " Why Mr. Sheppard. I suppose an apology is in order for you as well. Fortune favored you to intercede in time on little Kari's behalf. And double on Leyn that you didn't hurt him. He said you stormed in brandishing weapons."

John lifted his coat enough to hook his thumbs into the pockets of his pants, and to let the frosty daylight flash off the blades of the sticks. " I was advised not to leave home without them. Which turned out to be pretty good advice, considering."

Jorsek's smile remained plastered to his face, contrasting with the increase of cold in the man's eyes. " Not so much if poor Leyn had been injured."

" Yeah, about that, Jorsek, listen. I'm finding the load of bull concerning poor Leyn and his pathetic Rain Man act a little hard to swallow." John raised both hands in a placating manner. " Now, I won't argue that Leyn there might be a little touched in the head, because I don't really know. What I _do_ know," he pointed stiffly at Leyn who took another step back, " is that that perverted bastard tried to _rape_ a six year old girl. And from what I hear, it's kind of a hobby of his. Far be it from me to tell your world how to do things, but where I come from, people like that you either lock behind bars or stick in a mental institution. You don't force them to apologize like a kid who broke the car windshield then send him off to _play_. Scar face over there is hurting kids, and you're not doing a damn thing to stop him!"

A thick-bodied man with stringy dark hair that obviously hadn't been washed in a while surged forward, but was blocked by Jorsek's outstretched arm. The grin on Jorsek's face was twitching on the verge of failing, and the heat was overcoming the cold in his eyes. John was striking quite a few nerves, and he didn't care.

" Those are some rather vicious accusations, Sheppard. On this world, a man is not guilty until proven otherwise."

John spread his arms. " Then let's go get the council together and I'll prove it. I was there, I saw what he was about to do, and personally... I'm not satisfied with an apology. Leyn needs to be put away. And either you're blind to it, or just give more of a damn for your buddies than you do for children."

Jorsek's increasingly smoldering gaze turned on Arvlan. " Is that so?"

John knew a threat when he saw one, and stepped forward. " Yeah, that's so. If you have a problem with that, then convince me otherwise. Although at the extreme moment, I'm pretty certain you're going to be a little hard-pressed to make me see Leyn as anything but deviant _rapist_."

" That's it!" the younger Leyn snarled, and surged forward through Jorsek's suddenly slack arm straight at Sheppard. Since John's intent had been to focus all thoughts of violence off Arvlan and onto him, he was ready, and stepped slightly to the side a second before impact would have occurred. He grabbed the younger Leyn's arm as he plowed past, and twisted it around the man's back while at the same time bringing him to the ground where John pressed his knee into his back to hold him.

" I suggest you stop struggling and chill before your arm decides to pop out," John growled. He saw another man coming at him out of the corner of his eye, so kicked out, striking his booted foot into the man's chest. The man staggered back, but a third man came in from the side to grab him by the collar and haul him off the younger Leyn. The third man tossed John to the ground in the center of the patrol throng, and the men surged toward him. John kicked out again at the man stalking in at the front. Another grabbed his arm and yanked him painfully to his feet. John used the momentum to swing around and the slug the guy in the face. Then thick arms wrapped around John's chest, pinning his own arms to his side. He was finding this all vaguely familiar, but wasn't stupid enough to dwell on it, except to recall a move he quickly used on the bearded man advancing toward him with fist raised. Sheppard lifted both his feet and shoved them into the bearded man's stomach, then snapped his head back into the face of the man restraining him, which he knew he would regret later. The man released him, and John dropped into a crouch.

A quick glance around showed him a man coming in from behind – the younger Leyn – so John snapped his foot back, hitting Leyn's knee with a satisfying crunch. Leyn crumpled to the ground with a scream of pain, cradling the limb. John grinned and pushed off to tackle the guy charging in from the front. The two went down, and John slugged the man unconscious. Suddenly, another meaty hand snagged his collar and pulled him back hard to throw him to the ground. A boot flashed out of nowhere, about to stomp on his chest, when John grabbed it and shoved it back with all he had. The man yelped and fell to his own back.

Panting, heart pumping away like a revved up engine, John rolled onto his hands and knees. Another boot shot out, striking him right in the ribs. John cried out and fell to his side. Hands grabbed him, pulled him to his feet, and held him as the bearded man stepped up and slammed his fist into John's face, repeatedly – jaw, cheek, and nose. Black spots pulsed in John's vision, and a gray haze was trying to seep in like mist over his mind. Wet warmth slid from his nose and mouth, down his chin and jaw then onto his neck. Running on automatic, John kicked out in defense, getting a ten pointer in the groin. The man yelped and staggered back with hands covering his personal area. John grinned ferally, feeling a little punch drunk but getting over it fast thanks to another surge of adrenaline. He started struggling against the ones holding him, until an arm shot around his neck and pressed against his throat; not tight, just with the threat of tightening.

" I think that's enough _play time_ , Mr. Sheppard. Don't you?" Jorsek's sour breath puffed against John's cheek. The arm tightened a little more.

Gun fire cracked the still air, the reverberations piercing and close together. " I suggest you unhand him, Jorsek." Maj was approaching from the house, accompanied by Gidel and another heavy-framed man with bright red hair and a handle-bar mustache. Arvlan was with them, having slipped off at some point and time for reinforcements.

John felt the arm around his throat slide away, and heard the crunch of dirt under heavy feet as Jorsek stepped back. John lurched forward away from the bruisers toward Maj. He waited for some predictable response from Jorsek such as how this didn't concern Maj or for her to mind her own business. Instead, he said nothing, and John found it eery. He glanced back at Jorsek. The man was standing casual with hands in pockets and most of his weight on one foot.

But weren't the eyes always the betrayer of the soul? Jorsek's gaze could have leveled buildings with the nuclear blast it was trying to levy out. Red had started creeping up the man's bull neck to spread into his face in splotches and lines. John had to admire the effort being put into the man's restraint.

More than that, John was confused by it. Jorsek's men out numbered Maj's little gang, and being patrol were probably far more armed to the teeth. John looked back at Maj, Gidel, Arvlan, and the red-head. They were stalk still, emotionless, and if John didn't know any better, relaxed. But he did know better. They weren't so much relaxed as loosened up enough to make a grab for their rifles should it come down to that.

What was it Gidel had said about settlers and the settled? The settled took what they could get from where they could get it, and preferred fending for themselves. Maj, Gidel, Arvlan, Arvlan's brother, friend, and their red-headed friend were of the settled. They were hunters, with the sharpened patience to wait out prey, and to move fast when that prey came. So it was safe to say that Maj and her kind were adept at moving fast, aiming fast, and with too much skill to miss.

Except there was still that pesky situation of being outnumbered. Fast as Maj and the others could probably shoot, at least one of Jorsek's boys would be able to let loose a shot of his own, right now and right into Sheppard's back if he wanted to. What it all came down to was that no one wanted a confrontation, and no one definitely wanted to die. This was a stalemate.

Which meant that, for Jorsek, this probably wasn't over. Sheppard was still screwed.

John cringed at the thought.

When John stumbled within reach, Maj took him by the arm to pull him to the house. A silent, tense second passed, then motion resumed with Jorsek and his boys heading one way, and Maj's back up going back toward the sledge. It had almost seemed rehearsed, as though stalemates weren't something the good folk of village 443 were shy to.

" Bye Mr. Sheppard!" John heard. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dev and Kari waving at him, so threw a small wave back.

Maj tugged John along into the house through the back door, and practically shoved him into a chair before moving off to the sink to fill the kettle. John's entire body pulsed with aches, his muscles trembled from too much use too soon, and yet exhausted enough to drop off right there and then as he felt, his heart wouldn't stop pounding. An eight-man beating was disconcerting. Maj's silence was down right terrifying. John winced and shrank back when she slammed the kettle onto the stove and twisted the knob to heat the coils. John cringed again when she brushed passed him leaving chilled air in her wake on her way to the pantry for the healing herbs.

John was amazed at himself. He was afraid of a little old woman. It was like being eight years old again and being forced to endure the mute fury of his mother as she went to get the first aid supplies because he'd finally fallen out of the tree she'd told him time and again not to climb. John started chuckling but choked it off when Maj shot him a cold look that could have withered a pine tree.

" Are you amused, John Sheppard?"

John was inexplicably glad Maj didn't know his middle name. " Uh... I was, uh, just remembering something... No, not really."

Maj got out a spoon from a drawer and scooped herbs into a bowl. " What happened?" she demanded.

John gulped. " Well, we were heading back when Jorsek and his boys showed up. They forced an apology out of Leyn, hoped Arvlan didn't have any hard feelings, I got pissed and told Jorsek what I thought about Leyn."

" Which involved what kind of words?"

John shrank a little more into his chair and cleared his throat. " Oh, well... I don't really recall now... Although I did say that Leyn was a, um, rapist, and a son of a bitch, and a bastard – I think – among other things."

The kettle started whistling. Maj covered her hand in a cloth mitt and took it from the stove. She poured the water into two bowls, one with the herbs and one without. " That wasn't very wise of you," she said, and moved the bowls over to the table. " That kind of blatant honesty can get a man killed."

John's child-like fear of Maj became smothered by a rising tide of irritation. " Yeah, well, sorry to say, but given the chance to do it over again, I'd only end up saying something just as blatantly honest. The man tried to rape a little girl, and Jorsek thinks an apology is going to make everything hunky-dory? Leyn needs to be put away where he can't hurt anyone else. And if Jorsek doesn't like it... well... obviously he didn't, but doesn't make me any less sorry that I said what I felt needed to be said."

Maj dipped a clean cloth into the herb-absent bowl and moved around the table to sit adjacent to John. She leaned forward, and gingerly wiped at the cut on John's eyebrow.

" I know," Maj said tersely. " But such words would have been better said before the council. John, I already told you that you needed to be careful, and so far you haven't exactly stuck very close to my advice. You're an outsider, John, an off-worlder. The things you said and the things you did Jorsek can now use against you. And I know, you were simply defending yourself. Still..." she moved the cloth from his eyebrow to his split lip.

John raised both eyebrows. " Will he?"

" Will he what?"

" Use this against me?"

Maj shrugged. " I don't know. He seemed angry enough. He may simply take matters into his own hand."

John grabbed Maj's wrist to halt her ministrations. " Bottom line, Maj – what do I need to worry about? Jorsek, Jorsek going to the council...? They going to throw me out into the wilds on my ass or toss me in a cold prison cell?"

Maj's face remained unreadable, like a mask before the paint, as though all emotion had been wiped away. " I don't know." She slipped her wrist free of John's grasp, and he let her. She dipped the cloth into the bowl and began wiping the blood from John's face and neck. " I've lived here all my life, John, and even I haven't peered into every nook and cranny of this village. What I've told you and what I can tell you are from mere observation alone, coupled with speculation. I don't know exactly what the repercussions of what happened will be. But John... You should have known better. You should have known the kind of effect your words would have. I warned you about Jorsek and his men, and know even you could tell that Jorsek was the kind who didn't hesitate to use violence. What were you thinking, John? He could have killed you, and would have found a way to be justified in it."

John kept his gaze level with Maj's but didn't have a response. What had he been thinking? Well, he'd been pissed beyond reason, for starters. Shoving Leyn in Arvlan's face for an apology was more like a spit in the face than a means to an end. Kari being forced to see her almost-rapist for a second time around hadn't helped matters any. Shooting his mouth off had come like an instinct because, hell, it's what he was good at. When he couldn't fight, when the anger got so bad he felt ready to explode, he mouthed off.

He also mouthed off when he wanted normally unwanted attention drawn to him. Opening his mouth without thinking first – that had been a mistake. The rest he'd kept up to keep Jorsek from thinking Arvlan had anything to do with John's opinions.

Maj was right, though. John had reacted without thinking, had pretty much exploded, and could have been killed for it. Although he didn't regret keeping the focus of Jorsek and thug's fury on him. No one needed to pay for his over-eager tongue.

John lowered his eyes to the table and his hand resting there. His knuckles were skinned, and a bruise was forming in an imperfect radius across his hand.

" Maj, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I listened to rage rather than common sense. I'm not... usually like that. I mean, I do make decisions that most people don't agree with, but I usually try to think things through." His lips twitched in a brief smile. " I once admitted to a friend that I'm lazy. And I am. I like to wait, hold off, plan things out, take in all options. Of course, you get me into a heat of the moment situation and I feel I still handle myself pretty well. The thing is, I'm not the kind of person who just goes off, gives in, acts _then_ thinks. Maybe when I'm really tired, in a lot of pain, or hungry, but not like... now, with what just happened. I just got so pissed off that Jorsek would think a simple, ungrateful apology would solve anything. It didn't make sense. How the hell could he be so damned blind to what Leyn was doing?" John looked back up at Maj. " He's supposed to be protecting this village, so why's he screwing it over instead? Why's he doing this? Some kind of settled versus settler deal?"

Both of Maj's eyebrows shot up, but not in surprise. More thoughtful than anything else, as though realizing something. " Perhaps. It becomes obvious after living here long enough that you either drift toward one faction or the other – accept or deny. There's always been tension, and some hostility... I've seen my share of both, never becoming more, never diminishing to less. There's a balance. It shifts, at times, but rights itself in the end. Or at least I always suppose it does. People like Leyn and Jorsek always make you wonder if perhaps the scales are tipping in favor for the settlers. It depends on the village, really. I've seen some so totally overrun with settlers refusing to accept their lot in life that the town falls into decay. Other villages – mostly those farthest from the city – are every inch filled with the settled, and thrive quite nicely. Our village I'd prefer to think of as an in-between, but I suppose that's just me attempting to placate myself. I find myself sleeping better at night so long as I remain convinced that there is indeed a balance."

John was a little startled by that kind of confession. It didn't sound like Maj, or more like didn't fit into John's impression of her. Her tone was so... resigned, indifferent, like the tone of someone on the edge of giving up and contemplating stepping over.

It was just so... _not_ Maj that it boggled Sheppard's mind.

Maj seemed to sense this, and patted John's arm, giving him a wan smile. " Don't be so troubled, John. The thing about us settled is that we more readily accept when it's time to move on, seek out villages more to our liking. But we're a stubborn lot and'll hold out for as long as we can. Since nothing's really changed for better or worse, there's been no real reason to move on. And I try to remain optimistic. Whatever the outcome, I'll keep on surviving as I've always done."

She smiled again, sadly, a little distantly, as though looking back. Sheppard had to wonder if she was thinking about her son, and the cruelty that is outliving one's own child. John didn't know why, but conversations centered around surviving and continuing existence always tended to dig up thoughts of the dead. All that 'why did I live and so and so didn't' as though only the dead deserved to live was nothing more than a circular argument. If roles had been reversed, the pining would have still remained. Only the living suffer the dead. Yet even that realization didn't make it any better.

It was the physical absence that hurt, and overcoming the habit of running into a room, expecting that person to be there, and remembering that they're not, that that time is over.

Maj hadn't really answered John's question concerning Jorsek's blatant disregard for the safety of this village. And it wasn't because she didn't know. She had tiptoed around the answer, going for vague, either because what she knew was based only on opinion, or because she knew something she'd rather not talk about. Whatever her secret, she didn't seem particularly worried about it. In fact, her smile had become a little less sad, and a lot more relaxed, leaving John utterly confused.

Maj set the cloth down and sat back to study her handiwork. " Better. At least now I know cuts from formerly blood-stained skin. Hold still so I can smooth on the poultice."

" You still mad at me?" John asked, slapping on the puppy-dog eyes that had saved his butt from many a berating. From the way Maj was smirking, she saw right through it, but didn't seem to care.

" If you learned a lesson from this then no. If not, I'll have no sympathy for you the second time around."

John twitched his head in a small nod. " Keep my big mouth shut. Got it."

Maj scooped a small amount of the poultice onto her finger and smeared it over the cut on John's eyebrow. " I will admit, though," she said. " You certainly know how to hold your own."

John's chest jerked in a silent laugh. " Never underestimate the skinny guy."

To which Maj replied, " Never underestimate anything."

TBC...


	14. Ultimatum

The only response is the shallow breathing in the darkness, too deep to be human. Too deep to be anything recognizable.

 _John?_

The breathing is exchanged with a low, liquid purr... followed by a soft, inhuman chuckle.

 _No, little human._

A hiss, a scrape, and the darkness detaches without definable shape, except for the gaping maw coming right at her...

Teyla bolted upright in her bed, sucking in air through a constricted throat, and shivering from a thick sheen of sweat covering her arms, face, and neck. The undefinable shape was all around her, flashing always out of the corner of her eyes. She needed light, and recognizable shapes, now. She lunged sideways, snatching up her flashlight from her pack by the bed and clicking it on. The beam cut solid through the darkness to dance off the walls and across the floor, putting unknown shapes into form little by little.

There was nothing else in the room; nothing moving and nothing breathing except for her. She clicked off the light and dropped it by her pack, but had no intentions of going back to sleep.

Teyla and Lorne walked down the street like a couple on a stroll with Stewart lagging a little behind, keeping a more open eye on the few stray people wandering around. All three had their little wanted papers out, flashing them to whoever passed by. It was another chilly, gray day, the kind that made Teyla's heartache. Sheppard could still be in this weather.

Teyla was surprised at herself. The dreams had been growing progressively worse, and yet instead of exhausted, they left her wired and extra alert. Lt. Stewart may have been watching their backs, but the way Teyla kept glancing around at every minuscule sensation or noise was keeping her own back watched just fine. It was a useful development in some ways, keeping her on her feet and her senses more sharply attuned, but it felt wrong to her. It was verging on paranoia, leaving her feeling as though she were being watched or followed. Then there was that feeling, akin to what she felt when the wraith were near, yet altered in a way she couldn't explain.

There was something on this world, but it wasn't wraith, and she didn't know whether to worry about whatever it might be, or start contemplating future sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer. It divided her in two; part screaming for her to get off this planet, and part refusing to budge unless Sheppard left with her.

They they turned onto another small neighborhood street of shops and rickety homes. They entered the shops, flashing John's picture, and even knocked on a few doors to homes. People appeared from around corners, and almost seemingly out of nowhere, like nocturnal creatures risking the light for some unknown reason. Though in the case of these coat-ladened people, the reason became obvious when they asked the three Lanteans to confirm their promise of a reward for finding 'this Sheppard fellow' as they called him. It was a repeat of the last couple of days, with useless tid-bits of information pointing them in every conceivable direction. It was getting to the point where Teyla didn't even want to hear them.

They did encounter a group of children who confessed to chasing away an off-worlder that looked remarkably like John, and sounded quite proud of themselves for doing so, until Lorne told them that chasing him off rather than helping him had denied these children the reward. The children slunk off, muttering, pouting, and tossing dirty looks over their dirty shoulders. A thin, stringy haired boy who'd yet to say anything hovered behind, peering over Teyla's arm at the picture. Teyla turned enough for the boy to get a better view.

" Have you seen this man?" she asked. The boy squinted thoughtfully.

" I – I may have." The boy pointed his grimy finger at the paper. " He looks familiar." Then moved his finger to his mouth to nibble on his nail. " There was this man a while back who helped me escape from the Gylen boys... a-a while back – I don't remember when exactly. He just hopped in out of no where and started beatin' on them, yellin' at me to run, so I did." He looked up at Teyla apologetically. " I know I shouldn't of done that. Should have helped him in some way. But I had food I needed to bring home to my ma and couldn't let the Gylen's get it again. I went back to where I'd seen him, but he weren't there."

Teyla tried to shove back the flooding tide of hope that got her heart pounding, but she couldn't. " Could you show us this spot, please?" she said.

The boy nodded, then went from timid to timidly suspicious. " Wh-what did he do, anyways? This man? Why're you after him?"

Teyla had to smile at the boy. It was the first time they'd come across anyone showing any sort of consideration for Sheppard's well being.

" We wish to ask him some questions, that is all. We have no intentions of hurting him."

The boy's eyebrows lowered sharply over his eyes. " How do I know that? Maybe you're lookin' to torture him."

Teyla couldn't argue with that logical peice of thinking, so adjusted the back story a little. " Actually, we have been ordered not to harm him. He must be brought back unscathed so that we can trade him for one of our men. Our hope is that this will remedy what was actually a very grave misunderstanding."

The boy stared at Teyla hard for a moment longer, then bodily relaxed, accepting the explanation though not enough to lose all misgivings. " Well... I suppose I can show you. It's not far. Follow me."

The boy headed off without waiting. Teyla tapped Lorne on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow with a jerk of her head. The boy led the three Atlanteans through alleys and down back-ways until they came to a fenced-off dead end next to a small food shop.

" This was where the Gylen boys cornered me and the man saved me." He walked over to the wall and pointed down. Teyla, Lorne, and Lt. Stewart joined him.

Teyla crouched to touch her fingertips to a fleck of dark stains soaked into the cobblestones. " How many men attacked you?" she asked the boy.

" About..." The boy held up four fingers. " This many."

" Are they... fighters, of some kind?"

The boy's eyes went round. " Oh, they're nasty hitters. Pounded me good, almost to death, a few times 'cause I wouldn't hand over my food. And they don't even need it. They're big enough already."

Teyla's heart felt as though small, hairline cracks were spreading over it. " And the man that saved you – did he look well?"

" You mean was he sick? I'm – I'm not really sure. He had a beard, so I don't even know if it's the fellow you're looking for. He was kind of dirty. Had a cut on his shoulder, I remember that. He was standing over me at the time so I saw his back, and there was blood. I remember that 'cause I thought to myself that he isn't gonna last if he's hurt."

The cracks webbed, growing painful, chips falling away from her heart.

Lorne turned suddenly and rushed into the small food shop behind him. A few minutes later he reemerged.

" Guy in the shop says he saw the fight. Said the four boys knocked him down and started kicking him. Then some old lady rushed out and chased the boys off. He said the lady had some big guy put Sheppard into a wagon and they rode off."

Teyla straightened from her crouch. " Did the man say who this lady was?"

Lorne shook his head. " No, he'd never seen her before." He then placed his fists on his hips and glanced down at the ground. " He said... that the only reason he could think of for this woman taking him was to drop him off at one of the local morgues. It's a policy of the city that if a body's found, then whoever has the means needs to take it to a morgue, or... he said that some don't even do that. Just dump it in the river."

Teyla's heart shattered, her chest tightened, and tears stung behind her eyes. She swallowed several times and waited until the constriction let up enough to allow her to breathe a little easier.

" Perhaps..." her voice was small and rough, so she cleared it. " Perhaps – since this woman was kind enough to chase off Sheppard's attackers – she took him to a morgue."

" Chances are she could have taken him to a doctor," Lorne said. " I mean, if you're going to risk your butt saving a stranger, you're not going to ditch him if he's alive. The way that store owner told it, that woman didn't sound like the type of person to haul a dead body into her wagon just to dump it in the river. I mean, yeah, we should check the morgues, but we should also check any local hospitals or whatever passes for one. Come on, Teyla; just because half the population has a stick up their ass concerning off-worlders doesn't mean everyone does."

Lorne's attempt at remaining positive was a little crude, but it did the trick. He had a point. Why save someone just to get rid of them? Someone had helped Sheppard, or at least Teyla hope they had, and right now she preferred clinging to hope, no matter how fragile that hope, than endure the pain she'd felt only a moment ago.

She inclined her head, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly to calm the rest of her shattered nerves. " You are right, Major."

Lorne smiled. " Damn right I'm right. Plus we now have a hell of a lot more to report to Col. Caldwell."

Even better. Anything that could be used to extend the search was worth it for that alone.

They thanked the boy by giving him a small bar of nickel, as well as told him where to find them should he learn anything more. The boy, in return, pointed them to the nearest morgue, as well as the nearest medical station.

SGA

It had been three days since the fight with Jorsek and his boys, with no retaliation to show for it. Not that it was anything to relax about. John knew better than to do that. But he wasn't exactly glancing over his shoulder every five seconds either. If he went outside, he stayed in the back where Maj could see him. Any excursions beyond the yard had to be done either in the presence of Maj or Gidel.

" Why hasn't the committee come a'callin'?" Sheppard had asked on day two during dinner.

" Jorsek is no fool," Maj had answered. " He won't take the chance. Oh, he can fabricate a neat little white lie when needed, but with two different versions of the same incident being told, the council will have no choice but to deepen the investigation. And in turn, that investigation could very well uncover Leyn's dirty secret."

" I still find it nauseatingly mind-boggling that Jorsek is so uptight about what happens to his own people that he lets a pervert get away with molesting children. Kind of makes me wonder what his other buddies are getting away with."

" Mmm," said Maj. " There was talk once of Fysek Goreth having been the one who murdered Jek Moriss several years back. Jek's body had been found by the river, but had been so mutilated by wild animals that most settled for blaming wild animals – or the brigands. But Jek and Fysek had always been at eachother's throats. Jek had been able to purchase the good land plot on the west end of the village, and Fysek had been jealous. It had been Fysek's own blasted fault. The man's a terrible procrastinator." Then Maj sighed. " Now he's sitting in Jek's old home."

So John knew good and well that his beef with Jorsek was far from over. It helped even less that Maj had yet to tell him not to worry.

On the upside, John's strength was returning to its usual level. It showed each time he practiced with the blades, and the usual point where he tired was being pushed farther and farther back. Going from whip-thin to whip lean, which was making him feel a lot less self-conscious. John never considered himself much of a vain person, but everyone in this town had yet to let up on watching him like a hawk, and predators of any species noticed weakness first.

With an increase in strength and energy came the persistence to help out where John could. Pulling in wood, chopping it, helping Maj clean out the barn and tend to the animals. She had chicken-like creatures that looked more like black Guinny fowl with a crest of feathers that stood up when the birds became alarmed. There were creatures that must have been the Iothian version of pigs, small as pigs, but gray as hippos with almost rodent like faces. They were ugly, and dumb as sheep, coming only to Maj but nearly killing eachother trying to pack into the corner of their pen when John walked into sight. The Iothian version of sheep, however, were smarter, friendlier, and with long shaggy hair instead of curly wool. The males had three pairs of horns – two curling back, two sideways, and the smaller pair at the jaw curled forward. And their fur was soft, like rabbit fur. Good for making blankets and rugs, Maj said. Wool and milk was all the creatures were good for. Under all that fluff, the creatures were quite lean, tough, and not good eating.

John liked the sheep. They didn't run from him like the pigs, and didn't nip at him like the lyret. The only setback was the way they liked to rub into his leg, thumping his calf and thighs with their rock-solid horns. It left John with quite an impressive collection of bruises.

On day three of having not seen Jorsek since the fight (even when heading into town) Maj and John awoke early to get the barn chores over with.

" I've got claim on a blanket made by Anesa Inel, and you don't dally about when it comes time to pick up a blanket woven by Anesa. The woman has skills that could be deemed unnatural. Her blankets are in such demand that if you're not there at the time appointed to pick up your request, she sells it to another. Not out of strife, mind you, but she likes to sell off all that she makes before starting anything new. And she doesn't put up with procrastinators. Her closets used to get cluttered with unclaimed blankets. So I'll deal with the Orephs and you the Lyret."

John stumbled to a halt. " What?" Then lurched forward to catch up. " Maj, I don't know if you've noticed, but that lyret of yours has a goal to take me out one chunk of skin at a time."

Maj waved a dismissive hand. " Nonsense. He's just testing you. You be the one to feed him and he'll be your friend for life. Do mind your fingers, though."

Maj heaved the barn door open and they stepped into the musky interior with its stalls and bales of dry-green hay. Maj headed on to the back where the hippo-pigs were. The furry sheep grunted excitedly, and the large, tawny male rose up to drape its forelegs over the stall gate.

" Patience you over-sized furballs," John muttered. The lyret arched its neck over the stall door and snorted at John. John pried the lid off the large barrel where the six-legged lizard's feed was kept. He took the small bucket from off its hook and scooped up the gray granules. The lyret stretched its neck toward John, then its tongue when it became hindered by the post. The long, snake-like tongue slathered the sleeve of John's coat with pale green saliva. John jerked his arm away in disgust.

" Gettin' a little too friendly there, aren't we Godzilla?" John lugged the heavy bucket up to sit on the edge of the door and tilted it forward for the lyret to eat. " Look, I'm human, you're not... _and_ we're both males... it would never work between us." He patted the thing's neck solid muscle neck. The lyret was too busy being a glutton to take the time to nip. The lizard ate fast, licking the bucket clean and nearly pulling it from John's grasp in the process. When it was done, it shoved the bucket away with it's nose and turned to head out the narrow door into its paddock.

John set the feed bucket on the hook and headed outside around the barn to the spigot sticking out of the ground and the bucket hanging on it. He twisted the spigot on, filled the bucket, and poured the water into the lyret's quarter full trough. The lyret dipped its head into the trough and lapped noisily.

" Already undoing my hard work, huh?" John said, hauling a second bucket full of water over. " Patience is a virtue you could really do with right now." He dumped the water into the trough, splashing the lyret that grunted and snapped its head out. The lyret shook water from its head, flecking John with icy droplets. John raised his arm in defense and stumbled back.

" Hey! Let's show a little restraint here! It's not my fault you couldn't wait to get a drink. Crap, are all your kind brats?"

The lyret snorted in reply, and resumed drinking. John filled another bucket-full and turned back. The lyret lifted its head, snorted, and scuttled backward. John smirked.

" Now we're getting the message."

Something hard struck John directly in the back of the skull. The last thing he was aware of was the lyret croaking and the heart-stopping sensation of falling before darkness slammed down over his vision.

John was cold – freezing cold – and that was the first thing he noticed. Instinct told him he needed to find the covers that he'd apparently kicked off the bed. Except his arms refused to move. In fact, they protested the attempt through sharps pains in his wrist and aches in his shoulders. The pain awoke other pains, mainly the sharp cracking one in his head. Next came the sensation of something touching his face, more like patting it, hard, inciting the pain in his head into a screaming torrent of agony. John groaned, and something told him he was going to regret opening his eyes.

He opened them anyways, peeling them apart, wincing at the gray-white light stabbing through them into his brain.

" Wake up, Sheppard," a distant, echoing voice snarled.

" Make me," John snarled back. More like a moan than a snarl, really.

Wet cold hit John's face and body like a gunshot. He gasped, snapping his eyes open and trying to pull back but unable to. He blinked the film from his eyes and darted his gaze around in panic. Looking up, he saw his hands raised above his head and tied to a beam with painfully course rope. Looking down, he was shirtless, and shoe-less, water dripping from his face and down his torso to soak the waist-band of his pants. He was stretched his full length and then some, forced to stand on his toes to relieve some of the pull on his shoulders, which was nothing compared to the agonizingly uncomfortable pull on his spread ribs that made it next to impossible for him to breathe.

" Took you long enough."

John lifted his throbbing head to see Jorsek sitting indifferently on the rim of a stall wall. They were in a barn; smaller, with fewer stalls. John could hear the snuffling grunt of hippo-pigs.

" Took me long enough?" John gasped. He managed a weak, twitchy smirk. " I was expecting you to jump me days ago. Why all the reluctance to whip out the violence in front of a harmless little old lady, Jorsek?" John honestly wanted to know. He didn't doubt that Maj was beyond capable of handling herself, and she had her pro-wrestling bodied nephew to back her up. But even with Maj, Gidel, and Gidel's friend all together, it was still eight against three.

John saw two more of Jorsek's posse out of the corner of his eyes, either side. Leyn's brother, and that tall bearded man clutching a wooden bludgeon with the intent to use it if John so much as coughed.

Jorsek stood from his perch on the wall and strolled deliberately up to John. " You have two options, Sheppard."

John's smirk became a little less difficult to maintain. " Leave and never come back?"

Jorsek threw him a smirk back. " If only it was that easy. But dear old Maj wouldn't appreciate it. The option is this, keep your mouth shut about Leyn and the rest of your stay here will drag by uneventful. Don't and... use your imagination to fill in the blanks."

John nearly nodded until a warning stab of pain reminded him not to. " Niiice ultimatum there, Jorsek. And what with this not being the first time I've been trussed up like a rabbit for the skinning, the blanks have been prefilled quite nicely. Here's the thing, though. I have this little personality quirk in that I never really learn my lessons when said lessons are taught through means involving the tenderizing of my kidneys. Why? Because threats go in one ear and out the other. Especially where the safety of others are concerned. And with the safety of children presently involved, I've gone down right deaf. So here's the real deal. If Arvlan wants me to talk before your committee, then I talk. So how about you take the option of cutting your losses and turning Leyn in yourself. Saves face and spares a lot of innocent children future grief. So what say you Jorsek? Go for smart or go for stupid?"

Leyn's stringy-haired brother went rigid as an electrified blade of grass, fists curled and feet taking one wide, threatening step forward. Jorsek held out his hand to stop Leyn the younger. He then dropped his hand with a cloth-muffled slap to his thigh, and began chewing his lip thoughtfully, as though he were actually considering John's words.

Except John wasn't born yesterday. He braced himself since there wasn't much else he could do.

Jorsek nodded. " Cut my losses you say?" He then took a step forward and let his eyes trail down Sheppard's strung-up frame. Jorsek placed his calloused hand – almost gently – on John's left side. He ran his hand down John's ribcage with its fading yellow bruises. John held his breath, part in disgust, and part in nervous anticipation.

" This looks like it used to be quite nasty."

 _Used to be. Oh crap._ John clenched his jaw but kept his gaze fixed without expression on Jorsek.

Jorsek's other hand balled into a fist, and the fist shot out to connect with John's formerly injured ribs. The impact and the pain shoved the breath out of John's lungs, and for a second that felt like an hour, he couldn't pull the air in. His body attempted to instinctively curl around the injury, and made his shoulders suffer for it. His wrists writhed and squirmed trying to pull from the ropes until the once scabbed and healing skin chafed and tore. Blood slid methodically down his arms.

His body finally recalled the needed function to breathe. He sucked in a ragged, shuddering breath, and coughed.

Jorsek flashed him an insincere smile, then dropped it. " Sheppard. Need I remind you that you're a stranger here? If anything were to happen to you, the only one to be upset about it would be Maj." The poor excuse for a local sheriff walked casually around Sheppard but didn't reemerge on the other side. " Think about your position carefully, Sheppard. With all these disappearances, I could dump your body in the river and wipe my hands of you. Which is why you're in no position to make threats, but you are in a position to make a deal. Simply refuse Arvlan's request (should he request) for a witness against Leyn, and you'll continue to breathe. If not, then you leave me no choice."

Jorsek's next blow was a little more of a surprise. Two jabs, landing on each kidney.

 _Should have kept my mouth shut about the kidney thing._ John was once again bereft of breath, and gritting his teeth hard enough for them to crack. Also once again, his wrists tried to wriggle free of the bindings, tearing more wounds and drawing warm lines of red down Sheppard's arms. Several of the thicker drops slithered over his collarbones and tickled along his twitching flanks.

Jorsek returned to the front, looking annoyingly calm, cool, and collect. He glanced up with a lifted eyebrow at John's bloody arms, then back down at John's face.

" Doesn't take much to make you a mess, does it, Sheppard?" he said. " You know, this could be taken a step further. I let you bleed to death, then leave your body on Arvlan's property. I'm well aware there would be no real proof that Arvlan was your killer, but the investigation would smear his name. The people of this village would no longer go to him to buy their meat. His livelihood would be lost, forcing him and his family to seek out a new life in some other village... or even the city."

John poured gallons of venom and fire into his gaze, the kind of gaze he would have normally held in reserve for Koyla or a mouthy wraith with too much superiority to shut up. Jorsek had officially made 'the list' - the 'the next time I see you, you're dead' list. He was about to say as much when Jorsek struck him hard in the face, twice. And they weren't measly, distractive sucker punches either. These hurt, and John felt blood oozing from his nose and lip, pooling in his mouth and running down his throat – outside and inside.

Sheppard did what any sensible, tied up, vulnerable and pissed about it torture victim would do; he gathered the blood with his spit, and sent it flying onto Jorsek's coat. John would have aimed for his face, but couldn't lift his head up enough to aim that high.

Good enough. John chuckled weakly and gave Jorsek a mock look of abashment. " Oops."

Jorsek retaliated with another blow to the face that sent Sheppard for a loop. It took a moment for the barn to stop spinning, and for the flashing lights to fade out of his vision. This time blood trailed down from his eyebrow.

When Jorsek spoke, he emphasized each word through clenched teeth. " Think – about it – c _arefully_ – _Sheppard._ "

John wanted so badly to shake his head in order to clear it. " I can't," he gasped, and slurred, " you moron... since you keep hitting... me... like that."

Jorsek twisted his head to the side and twitched a nod at Leyn the younger. Leyn crouched to lift another bucket next to his feet, and tossed the water at John's head. John yelped with the shock of it, but was glad to know his body wasn't numb to the point that he could ignore it. Carson had stressed that when the body stopped feeling, then it was time to be excessively worried. At the moment, John was more worried about the way his pounding heart felt as though it were stumbling over itself.

A slap to the face brought John's focus beyond himself and back to Jorsek.

" Thinking clearly yet?" he coolly inquired. Jorsek's face could have been set in stone, with magma burning behind. Heated fury was uncontrolled fury; feral, wild, act-without-thought anger. And the hotter the fury, the more brainless the one furious. If you wanted someone to make a stupid mistake, foul up, show weakness, then the best course of action was to stoke that burning rage so that it consumed every conscious inch of that person until all they knew was the anger, and the need to quench it.

John preferred giving into cold anger. Cold was sharp, calculating, controlled, and therefore a hell of a lot more dangerous than heated fury. If John had ever given into heated fury, then men like Koyla and Lucius would be dead by now. But cold fury pushed for thought rather than shoving it back.

Heated fury was almost something to laugh at. Almost, except for when it was fueled by fear. Desperation made people do crazy things, and through the flames flickering in Jorsek's eyes, John spied the fear.

Sheppard cleared his throat. " No... Still a little confused here. What'd you owe Leyn anyways? He save your kid sister or something?"

 _Or promised to save her for last._ John would have said it, but wanted more to come out of this with his teeth intact.

Jorsek pulled a knife from his belt, a very large, very Bowie like knife, and began circling Sheppard, vulture to dead carcass. " What will it take to get it through your head, Sheppard? Keep quiet, or you won't be the only one who suffers."

John felt the cold metal touch his back, right over a scar he recalled having been placed there by a whip. That particular lash had been stubborn about healing, and had stung long after the fact that it was supposed to be sealed up. He still felt phantom pains from it, mostly at night, and sometimes when the weather changed. Actually, most of his scars tended to be like that, which was why he knew each by heart.

The knife edge bit into his skin and followed the path of the scar that went from below his shoulder blade to a little ways across his spine. It was a shallow cut. Deep cuts usually grated against bone by now. John sucked in a breath through his teeth, but otherwise kept his mouth shut. When it was over, he gasped out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He saw Leyn the younger smirking with cold satisfaction. Jorsek came back around to the front, holding up the bloody knife.

" I could do this all day, Sheppard. Think you could last that long?"

John smiled, and his chest jerked in a quiet, breathy laugh. " A day? How humane of you. Most like to keep it up for three, four days tops, usually just until I pass out and won't wake up anymore."

Jorsek pressed the tip of the knife to John's sternum, and slowly pulled down, like a kid drawing pictures in the dirt using a stick. " We could test that." When he came to the tip of the sternum, Jorsek moved the knife to set it gently on a scar along John's ribs – right side this time. John held his breath as the knife sliced.

 _Why do I always get sadistic freaks! Why can't it ever be anyone with an aversion to blood?_

John exhaled shakily when Jorsek had finished. His teeth began chattering, and each inhale made his side burn and his lungs sting.

" Man," John coughed. " You must really have a thing for Leyn... both of them... Since you're going through all the trouble just to skin me one scar at a time." That earned him a punch to his dissected chest. John pulled against his restraints trying to double up, and coughed until there was no air left in his lungs.

" Shut up!" Jorsek sneered. " Just keep your mouth shut about Leyn – swear you will on your life and the life of those who've helped you – and this can end."

The cold, the pain, and the bone rattling shivering was making it difficult for John to catch his breath. His chest heaved trying to draw in air, and the bottom of his chin was warmed by the blood from his chest.

John didn't get it. He was being tortured – for the sake of a double-dealing pervert! He'd always had the feeling that Ioth was messed up in more ways than one. Now he knew – it was purgatory, the final rest stop along the highway to hell. Had to be with all the bad-guys winning and all the good-guys being shoved farther and farther back into the wastelands. It wasn't survival of the fittest out here. It was survival of the cruelest.

Clarity struck John like another ice water bath. Not cruelty – well, yes, cruelty where cruelty was called for – _cunning_. Hadn't Maj said something along those lines? Survival by any means, no matter who suffered for it. John tried to lift his head and look at Jorsek straight in the eye, but seemed to have run out of the energy for it. Jorsek did the lifting for him by grabbing his chin and jerking his head up.

" Sheppard?" he said. " This isn't your business anyways. You're an off-worlder. You have no say in matters of law in our village."

John snorted, spraying a fine mist of blood and mucus. " No, but Arvlan does. And if Arvlan wants me to speak... You said so yourself, I've got no say in the matter."

Jorsek's jaw twitched and his eyes widened. He released John's head with another jerk, and stepped behind in search of another scar to reopen.

" You know, I think I get it now, Jorsek," John said. He winced when he felt the knife sinking into another whip scar on his lower back, but bit through the pain to keep talking. " This isn't about Leyn. This is about his little bother over there. You keep big brother out of the all-judgmental eye of the council, and he keeps on sticking with you as your right hand thug." The knife move to the recently healed wound on his shoulder. " Hell, I bet you torture for the sake of all your boys. You ensure they keep getting to do what they want, and they got your back for you to do whatever you want. I mean, I get it. Brute strength and the stomach to carve up another human being can be just as good of a bribe as money. Probably better, because it scares the hell out of people, keeps all the humble, backwaters settled under your thumb quite nicely."

Jorsek came around to the front, and set the knife on a scar a mite too close for comfort near John's neck. But John didn't stop, not with him being on such a roll.

" You're scared Jorsek." John gasped when the knife bit. " Come on, you can admit it. Especially what with all the people disappearing and all. Can't be lookin' too good on your permanent record that you haven't caught the kidnapper yet. Don't want people rising up and demanding your head, which is exactly what an investigation into what Leyn's been up to would do. People would start getting brave, especially the parents of all the kids he's molested."

Jorsek's knife moved to below John's collarbone, and Sheppard was starting to feel light headed. Panting breaths became labored breaths as John struggled to keep oxygen flowing into him.

" You're scared Jorsek... scared of these people. You need them, but they don't need you... They can't know that, so you scare them... and get the biggest... bad-asses you can find... to help you out... You're scared..."

The knife shot up off of John's body to his throat. Jorsek leaned in, his breath hot and foul in John's face. The man's lips twitched in a muted snarl, baring teeth, eyes wild and devoid of rational thought. John braced himself for the killing cut, and kept his eyes locked with Jorsek's. If John had to die, Jorsek would have no choice but to stare John in the eyes as he did so, unless he wanted to show off the fact that he was a coward in front of his boys.

Jorsek must have been a coward, but a smart one. The pressure on the knife eased, just a little, to prevent an accidental cut. " Shut up," he growled, his voice so low it would have been easy to miss had Jorsek not been so close.

John had to fight to keep a smile from forming. He officially had the man pegged.

Jorsek backed off, looked John up and down, and sniffed. " We'll leave him to the cold. He won't last much longer."

John coughed painfully. " Leave me just like that? People are gonna want an explanation..."

" There's a killer out there. Explanation enough."

" Maj'll know different."

" But can't prove it."

John curled his lip in a caustic smile. " What if she finds me alive?"

" Think anyone will believe what you have to say... _off-worlder_."

He had John there, and it made John wince. Jorsek stomped passed John, but not before giving him a shove into his freshly injured side. John bit his lip to contain the cry of pain trying to rip from his throat. Leyn the younger gave John a nod and a sneer, the bearded man a cruel grin and cold stare. The door moaned open, then moaned shut behind. The only sound became the grunt of the hippo-pigs, and the soft pat of John's blood dripping on the dusty floor.

SGA

" John, could you hand me the... John?" Maj peered over her shoulder twice to find the barn devoid of her tall, lanky charge. She straightened, and stared out the opening of the barn door. " Doesn't take that long to fill the water trough," she muttered to herself. She didn't like it, right off the cuff. She'd gotten to know John well enough from the moment he awoke. His strength was at where he should have finished filling the trough by now, and he was definitely the kind of person who would have warned her first before heading back to the house for whatever reason.

Although she had to wonder if he was the kind of person who became so profoundly curious he would wander off to investigate some strange tid-bit without telling anyone. Or perhaps he'd spotted Leyn shadowing another child. It would serve that man right if John ended up pounding him into the dirt, though the outcome for John wouldn't be pleasant once Jorsek found out.

Maj left the barn, reserving judgment for whether she should be panicked or slightly annoyed until she had gathered the facts. She made her way around the barn, and found the water bucket on its side, and her lyret pawing, snorting, and prancing in agitated circles. Now was a good time to become worried. It took a lot to upset her lyret.

Maj turned, put her pinky-fingers to either side of her lips, and let rip a long, shrill whistle. By the count of ten, Ris came flapping and gliding from around the back of the house to land skidding in front of Maj. Maj crouched to the ground, pointing at the dirt, then the bucket.

" Sniff it Ris. Come on boy, get the scent."

Ris snuffled at the ground, then the bucket, inside and out.

" That's it, Ris. Get a snoot-full. Now track'em out, Ris. Find, find!"

Ris scurried off, and Maj straightened to chase after him. Ris was quick when it came to the hunt. All one needed to do was point out a potential scent-spot, get excited about it, and Ris knew immediately what to do. This hunt led Maj through the town, down a mess of streets until they came upon old Murkal's place. Murkal was both hard of hearing and of sight, so Maj wasn't going to waste time pounding on his door to ask questions that would only be answered with a croaky 'what'. She went straight to Murkal's barn, since that was where Ris was hopping up and down, pawing at the door and chirping.

Maj wasn't foolish enough to simply barge in. She made her way around the barn and the single window on the side wall. She had to stand on tip-toe to reach it. Inside it was too dim to make out any details. There was a silhouetted form, only one, standing in a strange position. No other forms, standing or crouched, were discernible. The barn was safe enough as far as she was concerned. She raced around to the front, and hauled the heavy door open. Ris raced in first, chirping and leaping about. Maj followed swiftly after, slowing so her eyes could adjust to the gloom.

" John?"

Ris was circling the figure's legs, but made no sounds. The barn, Maj realized, was too quiet. Murkal had orephs, lost of them, and orephs never stopped grunting even when asleep. They only went quiet when they were cornered and terrified. She did hear something, though. A soft, near inaudible pat, like water dripping from a leaking pipe.

When she was near enough to the stretched form, and her eyes adjusted enough, her hand shot to her mouth.

" Oh no!"

She broke into a run, around John's strung-up body to the front of him. Blood coated every inch of him, soaking into his pants, dripping from his face, splashing on the ground like rain. Maj's hands shook when she reached out to cup John's face by the jaw and lift. Horror and sorrow squeezed her chest until she stopped breathing. She was certain, every fiber of her, that he was dead. Her mind told her to face facts. Her heart screamed, ranted and raged out denial. John's head was limp in her hands, slick with blood that painted her palms and sliding to one side.

" No," she denied, but didn't hold to it. Her little finger slipped down his neck, right on the pulse point, and felt with that single, small appendage John's pulse thrumming slow and weak.

The breath shot out of Maj's body, as though that little pulse had reminded her that she needed to breathe.

" Oh, John..." she both sighed and sobbed. She pulled out her knife from her belt, and again had to stand on tip-toe, cutting the rope with one hand, keeping her other arm around John. The ropes gave one strand at a time until John's weight finally snapped them. The motionless body fell like a sack, and Maj had to drop her knife to catch it or else let John's head crack on the floor. It was hard lowering him gently down with the blood making his body slippery and hard to hold. The moment he was lying on the floor, Maj removed her coat and draped it over him.

After that, all else became automatic, like a dream, or a distant memory. She ran from the barn, straight to Murkal's neighbors. The Calences – good people. As the husband went with Maj to the barn, the eldest son readied their wagon. They got John aboard. The middle son even discovered John's two shirts, his coat, and bladed sticks that had been tossed behind a hay bale. Mr. Calence whipped his white lyret into a frenzy of six-legged galloping all the way back to Maj's home. The elder son was sent to fetch Gidel. Maj's large nephew arrived at a run. No questions were asked or orders given. He gathered John into his arms as though he were a child. Maj thanked Mr. Calence and son with endless heartfelt gratitude, and hurried after Gidel.

" We need to get him warmed," she said. " Take him into the washroom and set him in the wash basin."

Gidel did so, setting John gently in the tub, then left to fetch Sheppard's things and Maj's herbs. Maj removed the rest of John's clothes, flicking blood drops and smearing blood on the floor. Maj twisted the knob for the hot water, more carefully adjusting the cold water so as not to burn Sheppard. The water turned red faster than it filled. Maj dipped a cloth into the water, soaking it, then squeezing it across John's shoulders to let it run down him.

Her gut twisted at all the blood, and the wounds producing it. The bruise on his ribs that was supposed to be fading was as vivid as the day she'd first saw the injury. Bruises patched his face, swelling his eye. His skin was cold, his body shaking, and his only semi-conscious response was a sudden quiet inhale that pained him by the way his face pinched in a wince. Maj reached out, taking John's face gently, and just as gently turning it to face her.

" John?"

One eye opened, just a slit, and John took in another shuddering breath. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

Maj leaned in placing her ear close to John's mouth. " What was that?"

His breath was shallow and warm on her ear.

" M'sorry," he breathed out. Maj pulled her head away. John's eye slid back closed.

Maj's throat constricted. She'd thought, once, long ago, that she'd built up an immunity to tears. But they stung her eyes, blurred her vision, and trickled one drop at a time down her face. She slid her arm across John's back, soaking her sleeve in blood, and pulled him forward, just enough to angle him and guide his head onto her shoulder. She kept her hand on the back of his head, her other arm around his shoulders, and held him like that, rocking him back and forth.

She started humming, then sobbing.

She thought her heart had become immune to breaking. But she was wrong.

TBC...


	15. Fiel

The chimes sang for John, and he wondered if it were possible to go back in time. Or maybe everything else had been a dream, and he was only waking up just now. Except he didn't recall having something lumpy and soft pressed against his uninjured side. He pried his eyes open with more effort than what he thought was necessary, and blinked away the remnants of sleep. Light flashed off the crystal chimes and reflected rainbows along the walls and ceiling. John turned his head, wincing at the painful throbbing at the back of his skull, and angled his eyes toward his side. Ris was curled up on top of the blanket with tail and wing-tips twitching.

John pulled his arm out from beneath the covers, and winced at the secondary pain in his shoulders. He felt like someone had dislocated his arm, twisted and pulled the muscles like taffy, then stuffed everything back in haphazardly. He wasn't a stranger to these pains. Ignoring them was an act of necessity as well as spite. He raised his shaky hand enough to drop it on Ris' small body. Ris' head shot up and the glassy eyes blinked a few times before the small head settled back on the folded forearms.

John was content just to lay there. The less he moved, the less he ached, and he felt sluggish enough to sleep for a few days.

Unless he'd already been sleeping for a few days, which meant that the longer he laid around, the more his body reverted back to its original sluggish state when he'd first awoken in Maj's home. His body was in need of some further spiting. John gritted his teeth on moving his arms, and gasped on pushing himself upright. Cuts stung, his ribs pulsed and his shoulders screamed. By the time he had his back against the wall, he was panting and shivering from a fresh plastering of sweat.

" No," John gritted. He shifted his legs, the only limbs that didn't hurt, disrupting Ris and forcing the creature to uncurl and hop off the bed. John swung his legs out from under the covers and planted his feet on the cool floor. He had to pause to catch his breath and let the pains seep back into dormancy. He looked down at himself, at the over-sized shirt covering his body, and the tan pants with frayed cuffs and a leather string for a belt. He tugged on the collar of the shirt to peer inside at the bandages wrapped around his chest.

John released the collar and blew out a long breath. " I'm back to square one." He looked up, out the door, wondering if a trip down the stairs was worth the risk to discover how long he'd been out this time around. The door at the other end of the hall was ajar, and John thought he caught the movement of a shadow across the floor.

John tilted his head to one side. " Maj?" but his voice wasn't strong enough to carry even out of the room. John reached out to grip the edge of the desk and haul himself up with grimaces and a grunt of pain. He listed and leaned heavily on the desk until his sight congealed back into single vision. He took several deep, cleansing breaths, straightened, and shuffled carefully to the door. He kept to the wall, and scowled internally at the constant barrage of deja vu. Only when he stepped beyond the bathroom did it stop. He slowed when he neared the door at the end of the hall, lowered his head, and focused on listening.

John heard the soft whisper of material, and a scrape of a foot across the wooden floor.

" Maj?" John called again. He got no answer.

John shuffled closer and leaned in enough to peer with one eye through the door. Maj was sitting on the edge of a blue quilt covered bed, her hands clasped on her lap, and her gaze vacant. John's eyes took in the room, with shelves of knick-knacks from hunting knives, bones, antler bits, pottery and a single crystal wind-chime hanging in front of the window. Below the window was a desk, at the foot of the bed John saw one side of an ornate chest, and splayed on the floor was a dust-covered red animal skin.

John took a breath to call out again, but couldn't get the words passed his throat. He felt like an intruder witnessing something that was not meant to be witnessed. He cringed at the thought, and began to back away.

" It's all right, John. You can come in."

John stopped and flinched. He took the last couple of steps into the room, hesitant as a disconcerted child and still harboring the impression of being an intruder. Had the pants any pockets, he would have stuck his hands into them. Instead, he went for his back-up embarrassment action of rubbing the back of his neck.

Maj pulled her gaze from her inward musings and looked up at John with a distant smile. She patted an area of the bed beside her. " Come, sit. You made it all this way without collapsing, it would be a shame if that changed within the next few seconds."

John made his methodical way to the bed, and slowly lowered himself. Halfway down and his hand shot to his throbbing side. Maj took his other arm in both hands and helped him settle on the downy mattress. They fell into a drawn out silence chalk full of discomfort – at least for John. He was waiting for Maj's berating; teasing or serious. Maj, however, had shifted back to her internal thoughts.

John gripped the edge of the bed with both hands and leaned forward enough to study Maj's face. Moisture pooled at the edges of her glassy eyes until enough accumulated for a single tear to spill over down her face. She quickly swiped it away with the sleeve of her green sweater.

" You all right?" John asked, wondering if this was simply a trip down memory lane, or if he needed to start feeling really guilty. He looked away, down at the floor, and swallowed hard. " Guess you were right about that consequences thing. Listen, Maj, I'm really sorry..."

" Don't," Maj said. " Please don't apologize. It wasn't your fault, John. Not even close to your fault. Cruel men do cruel things... to get what they want. So you have nothing to apologize for."

The silence crept back, and once again John was the one feeling uncomfortable by it. His eyes traveled over the room, stopping on the pictures hanging on the wall across from the bed. Black and white pictures of a boy and an older man, a boy and a younger Maj. The boy – older – holding up the twisty-horned head of a deer-like animal, the boy now a young man feeding a flock of mini-iarets. The young man and several other young men posing with rifles raised, probably taken before a hunt began.

" You remind me of him."

John jolted in surprise at the sound of Maj's voice. He looked at her.

" Fiel?"

Maj nodded, and swiped at both her eyes. " Not in looks. You're taller than he was, and his hair wasn't quite the mess as yours," Maj added with a soft chuckle. " But you have the same spirit as him. Persistent to the point of being stubborn, incorrigible, brave and a little fool-hearty about it at times... and caring. Very, very caring. To a fault, almost." Maj took a deep breath and let it out sharply, tensing as though bracing for something. " He, um... he died... On another world. He died doing the right thing. There had been a raid on a village that we traded often with. We went to help them rebuild, and a small group of raiders returned in the night to take some of the women. My son and several of the men chased after them. They returned with only three of the women, and carrying my son in a litter. He was wounded, severely, attempting to stop three of the men from raping one of the women. They attacked him. His wounds became infected. I sat by his bedside, and cleaned his wounds every day. But they were too many, and I was too late. He died..."

Maj's voice hitched and she looked down, probably to hide her tears. John saw one flash from her eye to land on her hand. " He died in my arms. He was convulsing, and I didn't know what to do except hold him and comfort him until the end." She sniffed and cleared her throat, swiping both eyes a second time. " He would have been a little older than you, I think, two weeks ago. When the pass came, we would have gone to Alsterak, to the market fair there, the biggest on any of the worlds. Fiel's favorite. He always liked the food there, the candies especially." Another tear managed to escape and fall to soak into her sleeve. Then she chuckled ruefully. " You just... You remind me of him so much... Rather hard not to get attached under such circumstances. There are times when I miss him so much. _So much_. It hurts, sometimes. And... I like being able to see him... through you. As though a part of him still exists. Almost losing you... Ga! It was like losing him all over again."

Maj finally looked at him, tears or no tears. She smiled sadly and reached up to place her hand on John's cheek. " I like having a son again. Even if he isn't really mine." She lowered her hand, and looked away, giving John a melancholy laugh. " I'm sorry, John. I'm a lonely old woman who's quick to indulge in pathetic fantasies. But rest assured I saved you because I have a heart and not because I was looking to play mother."

John smiled, then reached out to take Maj's hand in his own. " If it's any consolation, it was nice having a mom again."

Maj gave him a wry smirk. " You mean having someone dote over you?"

John laughed, glancing down and returning his hand to rubbing the back of his neck. He hated, beyond comprehension, opening up in anyway to things he'd always considered to be nobody's damn business. People didn't need to hear his sob stories and have some reason to pity him, and John didn't want to relive them. But he couldn't sit idly by and let Maj think he was pitying her. Because he wasn't.

" My mom... died, when I was thirteen," he said. " A car wreck. Uh, kind of like those motorized vehicles you have in the city, but a little bigger. She went to get milk because we didn't have any, and knew how my dad and I hated it when we didn't have milk. She was heading home, and this drunk guy rammed into her car. We were told she died instantly. The last time I saw her, she was telling me to go do my school work then go to bed. And I did, only to wake up an hour later..." John's voice caught and he cleared his throat. He still remembered that very hour, fresh as yesterday, and the numb that had crept into his body to drown him in a dream he never woke up from. He'd simply gotten used to it until he was able to push it farther and farther from himself. He woke up into a new life the day he joined the Airforce, and it was everything in between that hovered vaguely in his memory, and might as well have been a dream.

Maj place her arm across John's shoulders. " Then I guess we both enjoy pathetic fantasies."

John shrugged and grinned. " I wouldn't call it pathetic. Maybe a little depressing if you think about it too much. But like you said, you didn't take me in so you could be a mom again, and I wasn't looking to be someone's son. You still miss your son, I still miss my mom. But families – sometimes – they just happen, blood related or not. Besides," John draped his arm around Maj's shoulders. " It was inevitable you saved me. Women can't resist my charm."

" Oh yes," Maj said, " and you were quite charming all skinny, bloody, bruised, dirt-caked and bearded as you were. My heart was all a flutter. You were lucky I saw you do a service to your fellow man, boy. Looking wretchedly pathetic doesn't cut it by itself."

" Darn. Some days it's all I got going for me."

Maj tightened her embrace around his shoulders. " You live a dangerous life, John Sheppard."

John looked beyond Maj to the window and the woods. " Don't we all?" He looked back to Maj. " I'm assuming there's nothing to be done about what Jorsek did?"

Maj took a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh. " No. No one would believe you."

John nodded. " Because I'm an off-worlder."

" And because everyone fears Jorsek. He's the chief protector, and if you wish to stay protected, then you stay on the protector's good side. And – as you've so recently discovered for yourself..."

" He's a vicious bastard."

Maj nodded. " Right."

" And a coward," John added.

Maj nodded again but said nothing to further the point. She understood, and John had come to understand. Jorsek was a man who got his way, and half the time shed as much blood as he could to get it, because it worked.

" I still don't get one thing, though," John said. " Why does he fear you so much? I mean, no offense, but even with your nephew, you're just two people, and he's, like, a hell of a lot more."

Maj smirked a very wicked smile. " Jorsek's father is complete dung, city born and bred. But he's dead. Jorsek's mother, however, is none of those things. And she and I go waaaay back. The rest is good old paranoia. His fear of anyone who has been off world keeps him at bay, and I milk it when I can." Maj slid her arm off of John's shoulder so she could wrap her fingers around both his arms. " Come on, John. Up now." She rose first, slowly, and aided John in rising after. They moved as one, shuffling and deliberate, from Fiel's room back into the hall.

" Let me check those cuts, then I'll bring you up some supper."

" How bad is it?" John asked.

" You were near frozen to death when I found you, and lost much blood. But the cuts were shallow, and though you're bruised to be sore for a while, only one rib recracked, and the rest stayed intact as far as I could feel. You've been resting for two days."

John pursed his lips pensively. " Not too bad for being strung up. It usually ends in complete pulverization. Maybe Jorsek was being humane."

Maj shot John an odd look. John responded to it with a shake of his head. " Don't ask. You don't want to know."

SGA

Rodney McKay had always thought his propensity for being intimidating when he wanted to be came in quite handy when it needed to be. Ronon obviously didn't know this, because he was making more of an effort to physically insert himself between Rodney and the next supposed witness to Sheppard's last location rather than verbally. And for some reason, McKay kept looking to Caul for an explanation, knowing good and well the little man couldn't give one. As expected, each time, Caul's reply was an uncomfortable shrug and sorry excuse for an apologetic smile.

 _As though grunting and glaring are any more different then a good verbal tirade._ A litany of words could be effective. They were always effective in the lab when dished out to his underlyings... for that immediate point and time. And isn't that what they were after, immediate answers?

Rodney brooded over this, staring past Caul's shoulder to burn non-existent holes in Ronon's leather jacket. Rodeny had unofficially – so much so that he hadn't even realized it had happened until two minutes ago – been hustled to the back of their little line. Thus ensuring that when confronted by a supposed witness, Ronon got to them first.

Rodney couldn't complain, because he had his tirade and either Ronon couldn't hear him, or more logically was purposefully ignoring him. What Rodney really wanted to do was complain about the futility of speaking to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that popped up giving vague info about Sheppard and expecting to be compensated for it. Except to complain about it would be admitting to the futility of the search in general, and to admit to that was to come across as though all hope was lost. But Rodney hadn't lost hope, he was simply sick of the circular monotony that was going around, flashing wanted posters, and crossing their fingers for a result. There had to be another way to go about this, some way to sift through the jam-packed cornucopia of info they kept getting. A connection, a thread they could follow that would build better answers. Something beyond going through the motions of a search and placating Caldwell with the info that wasn't doing much to placate Rodney. Caldwell was going to catch on sooner or later, and merely hinting at calling off the search would explode into a full-out order that Lorne couldn't deny.

 _Damn military chain of command. No wonder Sheppard has a problem with it._

The real bottom line was that they needed to just find Sheppard already.

Rodney had to wonder how many times they might have passed the Lt. Colonel already. They go one way, he goes the other, and the only thing standing between them is either a wall or a crowd. Irony could be a bitch that way.

Rodney stuffed his hands into his pockets and huffed out a breath through his nose to warm his uncomfortably dry sinuses. The chilled air was rubbing his nose raw, and he was waiting for the day when he woke up with a bloody nose. Ioth weather was horrible. All those clouds overhead with not a lick of moisture to show for it. Not even a single snowflake. Not that he wanted it to snow. Murphy's Law was being cruel enough. They didn't need images of Sheppard lying buried under a mound of snow to join forces with the images of Sheppard lying freezing to death and beaten to a bloody pulp.

 _Oops, too late._

They came upon yet another bar; lighted, warm, and smelling faintly of urine. They entered the partially crowded establishment growing thicker with the evening, off-work or off-begging crowd meandering in, some apparently not over their inebriation from yesterday. Despite Cauls' warnings that they stick together as best they could, the growing throng herding like cattle to the bar and tables forcefully separated them. Rodney waded through the muck of bodies with his nose scrunched and face twisted in what he hoped was a sufficient scowl.

" Ronon!" he called, pretty much screaming to be heard over the vibrating thrum of voices.

" McKay," came the bellowed response, but not from any direction McKay could discern. He made his way to the other end of the bar, then turned around and made his way back to wait by the doors where it was easier to breathe. He hated crowds. They made him claustrophobic, and the tighter the masses packed, the faster his heart raced.

When he reached the doors, he turned to lean his back against the wall by the entrance and exhaled in relief. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

" Hey, you one of the folk looking for this Sheppard guy?"

Rodney turned to face a young man with sandy-brown hair cropped close to the scalp. McKay fixed his scowl back into place.

" Yeah. Why, you know something?"

The man didn't reply with words. His fist shot out, striking Rodney square in the face, and sending him dropping into darkness.

TBC...


	16. Old Foe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still needing to take it slow. I'm nearing the end, the chapters are being a pain, and it seems that I have some sort of ear infection. Though the infection or whatever it is is being handled, it's still making it so that I can't handle being on the computer for too long. Stupid equilibrium. And along with this story, I am writing several others – some non-fan-fiction related – so it's been a juggle of which to write and when.

Rodney awoke with a start, coughing and sputtering out the ice water trickling into his mouth and down the wrong pipe. Cold like fingers of ice traced down his face, neck, and into his collar. He gasped in air several times like a choking fish, and snorted it out his nose, wondering distantly why he'd decided to take a swim.

Then he opened his eyes, flicking water from his eyelashes through rapid blinks, and jolted at reality bulldozing its way into his awareness. He was in a room, dimly lit, smelling strongly of mold, wood rot, and standing water, and he was sitting in a rickety chair that whined if he so much as twitched. Standing over him with an empty cup in one hand was a tall, lean, crop-haired young man in a heavy coat, regarding McKay like a bored cat will regard a mouse, deciding whether or not to eat it or play with it some more.

Had Rodney been at his full mental capacity, he would have been demanding to know what he was doing here, why he was taken and what was going on. All he could manage was a blank look and a croaky, " Huh? Wha...?"

The monosyllabic response was a mistake. The man snapped from his incessant staring, eyes flaming with rage and face contorted with the same. He launched forward, grabbed McKay by the lapels of his pretend uniform, hauled him from the chair and slammed him against the wall.

" Where's Caul?" the man practically roared.

Again, all McKay could utter was more single syllables. " What? Caul? Huh?"

The man pulled McKay away, then slammed him again, harder, shoving the breath from Rodney's lungs. " Don't play stupid, Lantean! I know who you are, I know why you're here, and I know Caul's with you. I saw him."

Rodney lifted his arm to wipe drops of water from his eyes. " And you didn't have the capacity of thought to grab him instead of me?"

Bad choice of words and bad timing. Rodney had time enough to cringe with the realization before the man threw Rodney to the floor, then slugged him with a hard right to his face. Rodney's head snapped back with a crack on the wooden floor. Lights like pulsing fireworks blinked in his vision to the tempo of his throbbing nose and skull. He brought his hands up, covering his nose with a groan, and felt warm sticky liquid pool along the heel of his palms.

" I think you broke my nose," Rodney moaned.

" That's not all I'm going to break if you don't tell me where Caul is." The man gave Rodney one massive, vicious kick to his ribs, and Rodney was once again bereft of breath. The man kicked again. " Tell me! Tell me where you're hold up!" He kicked again. " Tell me where he can be found!" And again. " Now!"

Rodney was desperate to explain the futility of demanding answers while depriving the one being questioned of air to speak. His abuser bent and grabbed him by the collar again, tugging him to his feet, swinging him around, then shoving him back into the chair. Rodney and the chair went tumbling backwards, then over eachother, the old chair collapsing under Rodney's body. Sharp, burning pain ripped through Rodney's stomach. Instinct guided his hands to the source of the pain, and the nerves of his hand registered liquid warmth and something hard and foreign protruding from his gut.

Rodney knew better than to look down, fought not to look down, even snatched his hand away in hopes of being able to ignore that there was something currently in him that wasn't supposed to be. But fear always took a back seat to morbid fascination, even for McKay. His eyes moved of their own accord it seemed, then his head with him, to see blood soaking his uniform around the right side of his upper abdomen. The cause was a finger-width sliver of wood now buried in his gut.

" Are you going to tell me, now?"

Rodney pulled his wide-eyed and horror stricken gaze from his newly acquired and very life-threatening wound to the his tormentor. The man was back to towering over him, with hands loose at his sides ready for another grab or hit, and an expression that said the man didn't give a damn if Rodney bled out or not.

Rodney was in a hell of a lot more trouble than he thought possible, and within only two minutes time. That had to be a record.

 _Oh, crap, I'm delirious. And cold, probably going into shock..._

Rodney opened his mouth, gaping like a baby bird waiting for momma to drop the worm in. He made a small, pathetic croaking sound, but had no idea what the hell to say. He could hand Caul over on a silver platter, but Rodney's immediate impression of this man was that he was still going to kill him no matter the cooperation.

Then came a loud bang, followed by a crash of wood from the door flying open and hitting the wall, splinters raining down everywhere. Rodney's abuser reached for the small projectile at his waist at the same time a flash of light hit him full in the chest. The man crumpled to the ground with a thud. Rodney, panting and sufficiently panicked, looked from his tormentor to the door, and Ronon's bulk blocking most of the outdoor light. Ronon holstered his weapon and stepped into the small room to crouch beside Rodney.

Rodney's breathing increased rather than decreased. " You came, you found me, you shot him, you came..." Rodney furrowed his brow. " What took you so long?"

Ronon's attention was fixed on Rodney's wound. The Satedan pulled a field dressing out of the pocket of his uniform jacket, and carefully wound it around the splint to keep it immobile. " Saw the guy dragging you off, tried to follow but couldn't get out of the bar fast enough and ended up losing him."

" That still doesn't answer my question..." Rodney hissed when Ronon lifted the Physicist's back enough to get the dressing under him.

" I asked," was Ronon's reply. " Some guy hauling around an unconscious off-worlder isn't something you miss real easy."

" Is he all right?" another voice said from the door. Rodney turned his head to see Caul standing in the entry-way, regarding Rodney with a pale face and slightly slack jaw.

" No. He needs medical help." Ronon glanced over his shoulder. " Think you could make it back to the inn all right? We're not that far."

Caul nodded, pointing at McKay's unconscious abuser. " So long as he's out of the story, then yeah."

" Who is he?" McKay asked, his voice higher pitched than he would have liked, but Ronon's ministrations were really hurting like hell.

" Mical, the man behind your Sheppard's kidnapping."

Ronon's head snapped up like a dog catching the scent, and his suddenly feral gaze locked onto Mical like a missile targeting system.

" Uh, Ronon," Rodney gasped. " You can satisfy breaking every bone in the man's body later. I'd, uh... really appreciate it if I didn't bleed out any time soon."

Either Ronon wasn't listening or... Well, Rodney couldn't think what else it could be, and felt insulted when Ronon rose and went over to the man. Ronon crouched beside him, then with the speed that would make a professional calf-roper jealous, bound the man by his ankles and wrists, with hands behind his back, using rope produced out of the second pocket of Ronon's jacket. The former runner was a perpetual human Swiss army knife. When done, he went back to Rodney's side, but looked at Caul.

" If you can remember where to find this place, take Lorne here. He can deal with this guy."

Caul jerked a thumb over his shoulder. " There's a healing facility nearby..."

Ronon shook his shaggy head. " No need. I know a better place. Now go before anyone gets interested in what's going on here."

Caul hesitated, then gave a curt nod and took off. When he was gone, Ronon tapped the radio at his ear.

" Daedalus? Ronon. Got a medical emergency here."

There was a crackle, followed by an accented voice. " Beckett here. What's the nature?"

" Rodney's hurt. Bad." And enough said. Rodney could never express in words his appreciation for the Satedan's succinct nature. He would have hugged the big guy if he knew it wouldn't have hurt so much, or that it would have looked completely unmanly and a little insane.

There was a flash of light moments after the brief verbal exchange, and the next thing Rodney knew, he was lying on the floor of the Daedalus' infirmary. Beckett's face moved into Rodney's range of vision, hovering and concerned, but all voodoo business.

" Aye, this looks a wee bit nasty. You did a good job immobilizing it though, Ronon." Carson leaned in closer to Rodney's face. " All right, lad, we're goin' to be taking good care of ya now..."

Hands were all over Rodney, lifting him off the floor enough to get a board under him. " Just get this twig out of me then you can ditch your oath and smack me around for all I care. Just don't give it time to infect me. The chair that stabbed me looked old enough to be my great grandmother's, and I'm pretty sure there was mold on it."

They lifted the board and transported Rodney to the nearest bed. " And Ronon... Get back on that planet. This isn't a setback, just one less person doing the searching just until Carson closes this hole." The indignity of being undressed through the use of scissors commenced, but it was white noise in comparison to the bigger picture. Caldwell was _not_ going to use this situation as an excuse to turn the Daedalus around and haul ass out of this solar system.

" Rodney, this isn't going to be as simple as closing the wound and sending you on your merry way," Carson said as he filled a syringe full of what Rodney could only hope was painkillers, because between antibiotics and painkillers, he really wanted the painkillers first. " Depending on how deep this 'twig' penetrated, you may not be able to go anywhere for a while."

A sheet was pulled up to cover Rodney below the penetration point, then his pants were removed. Rodney flinched but was too busy being pissed about other matters to really care. " Look, Carson, I can't do this. I mean I can get healed... But I can't sit back and relax in a hospital bed with the bed next to me empty of the guy I got injured looking for! I can't... I just... I'm leaving him behind Carson!"

Carson injected his little concoction into Rodney's arm. " Leaving someone behind is a voluntary action, son," the Scottish doctor said. " And you're fightin' it every step of the way, so I highly doubt this would be called leaving him behind. And you know as well as I do that Colonel Sheppard would chew me up and spit me out if I let you go back to that planet before you were recovered. Then he would finish you off as dessert. And he'd never forgive himself - _himself –_ if you ended up dyin' tryin' to save him. You can berate him all you want about that little quirk of his but you know he's never gonna change, so do him the favor of not dyin' on him. It'll be just as good as though you were the one lookin' for him."

 _Damn Carson and his impeccable logic._ Rodney wanted to argue his stubborn but pointless resolve further, but for once in his life was stumped as to what words to use that would sound more convincing than what Carson had just said.

Carson also didn't give him the chance.

" Listen, Rodney, I canna argue with you on this anymore. We need to get you into surgery and get that splinter out. I'm sorry, but as of right now, you're off the search."

Rodney's jaw dropped. Of course he was off the search at that moment what with a mini-vampire stake poking at his stomach, yet hearing the vocal confirmation that he could no longer help in finding Sheppard was one step below being told that the mission was off, Sheppard was screwed, and they were going home. Rodney didn't need to be with the search team, his presence wasn't making any difference, he would admit to it. Results, however, weren't the point. Being physically a part of the solution, walking over the same soil and muck Sheppard was probably walking over, was the point. Sheppard was there, so Rodney had to be there. He was part of Sheppard's team, for crying out loud, he was _supposed_ to go where Sheppard went.

Rodney rolled his eyes. He was making himself out to be some kind of overly loyal dog.

Still, he wasn't going to relax and let up until Sheppard was where Rodney was – walking on metal floors, and safe.

SGA

John opened his eyes to darkness interrupted by three bars of fading red light marking the position of the small wood-burning stove. He'd felt movement at his side, and stared into the darkness until his eyes adjusted to form shapes.

Ris' shape was at the window, stretched his full length to have his claw-tips on the sill. He was clucking, chirping, and clacking his jaws.

" Ris," John croaked. He reached out to flop his hand onto Ris' back. The little lizard didn't notice.

A howl, long and deep, like the drawn out blare of a tuba, rose in crescendo until the windows rattled. John, without being fully aware of what he was doing, pushed himself stiffly upright against the discomfort of sore arms and a fickle rib. The howl continued to rise, and the window shake, though he could have sworn the source was somewhere off into the distance, miles away. It _sounded_ like it should be miles away.

Instead of descending back down, the howl simply faded away, hitting the peak of its pitch to end abruptly, leaving behind a single, trailing echo. Ris hissed, and it wasn't good when Ris hissed. John leaned forward as far as the bandage around his chest would let him.

" What is it?" he asked, just to be asking, to hear something other than the sudden silence. He peered out the window into impenetrable darkness offset only by the faint jagged outline of the trees against a lesser dark sky.

Ris, however, seemingly satisfied that his hissing had actually accomplished something, shrank back from the window, circled, and curled up tight against John's hip. John sat back and snorted. " Some watch dog you are." He then squirmed back beneath the covers, tugging them up to his chin. One hand he kept holding the blankets, the other he slipped under the pillow to touch his fingertips to the grip of his 9-mil.

TBC...


	17. Shadows

The ax whistled through the air as it sailed down toward the helpless log. The whistle became a thwack, and the cleanly separated halves fell to the dusty ground. John strolled over and bent gingerly to pluck them both from the ground and toss them onto the pile. There was a twinge in the muscles of his left side, docile enough for him not to make a face. The one pathetic rib that had given way to the abuse and cracked was snugly immobile beneath his skin and the tolerably tight bandage around his chest. Three days of not doing much, with two of those days spent mostly in bed, was in no way time enough for the bone to heal. But John was pretty sure it was at least starting to fuse. The pain had diminished to an ache easy enough to ignore yet still annoying.

" I like this ax," Maj said. She hefted it onto her shoulder, lifted, then let it fall onto the next helpless log. Whistle, thwack, and the wood had a literal split personality. " Has bit more of a heft to it than the last one, and a better head."

" Give it time," John said as he grabbed the two halves of wood and set them on the pile. " Prolonged use'll make it just like the old one."

Maj set another log on the stump and held it in place to shoot John a smirk. " Why, John Sheppard, are you being pessimistic?"

John dusted bark chips off his hands then held up a single finger. " _Realistic_. I'm being realistic. There's a difference."

Maj hefted the ax and swung. Whistle, thwack, and two more pieces of wood were born. " Not in my experience." Maj dropped the head of the ax to the ground so she could lean with one arm on the handle. " I mean if the world were ending I doubt there'd be a soul grinning about it and saying 'oh joy, the world is ending', but much of the outcome of life depends on how you look at it. Yes, the ax will go dull in time no matter how often I sharpen it, but I can still bask in its unblemished newness." She leaned to the side, grabbed another log, set it on the stump, and swung the ax up then down.

John grabbed the pieces. " I won't argue with living in the moment."

Their conversations, of late, had been idle and mundane chatter, and John found that he enjoyed it. He hadn't become resigned to the fate of living on Ioth for the rest of his life. The pass would come even though the time for it was still days away. John had simply become thoroughly comfortable in Maj's presence, almost like having a second life apart from Atlantis. And when the time did come to return home, he would ensure some way to contact Maj again. Perhaps some monthly meeting on some world somewhere just for a quick 'hello, how are you' kind of rendezvous, just to ensure that the other was well – and alive.

John went to the pile and set the split wood on top. A snap sounded sharp in the woods. John snapped his head up and searched the twilight gloom of the forest. A silent breeze made the branch of a tree creak.

" John? Something wrong?"

It took effort to pull his gaze away and move back to the stump. He shook his head. " Nothing."

Maj kept the ax resting against her shoulder and regarded John searchingly. " It might be just me, but you've been seeming a little jumpy lately. I doubt Jorsek's going to have a second go at you. His first go was risky enough. He's lucky I hadn't come sooner. Then I would have had every right to stick him full of projectiles." She lifted the ax and let it fall, like a human guillotine. John snatched up the pieces.

" Jorsek's a pansy-ass when it comes to torture. I've had worse." John would have brought up the little ditty about being wraith-sucked, but neither wanted to explain it nor skip down that particularly dark hollow of memory lane.

" Hmm," was all Maj said before setting another log on the chopping block. The ax swung, and the log split. John took the pieces and headed for the pile.

Within the sudden silence came a shout, high-toned and young. John froze and tuned his hearing toward that sound alone until it came again, closer and longer. He looked up, then to his right to see a small form bundled in a fur-trimmed brown coat racing toward Maj's back yard. The hood of the coat was up, but John didn't need to see the face to know who it was.

" Kari!" John moved swiftly toward her to meet her the rest of the way.

" Mr. Sheppard Miss Maj he's got my brother he's got Dev...!" she called in a single breath. She grabbed the sleeve of John's coat when it was within reach and began tugging frantically. " He's got Dev he's got Dev!"

John crouched and took the gasping girl by the shoulders. " Kari, calm down. Who's got Dev?"

" Mr. Leyn!"

Maj came up beside them. " Leyn took Dev?"

" Mr. Leyn was trying to take me but Dev attacked him and started kicking him. Dev told me to run and when I looked back I saw Mr. Leyn chasing Dev into the woods. He needs help Mr. Sheppard! Mr. Leyn's going to kill him!"

Maj was already in motion running to the house, then two minutes later returning with her rifle slung over her shoulder, John's bladed sticks in one hand, and Ris trotting along side her. John rose, and Maj tossed the blades to him.

" I'd of grabbed your projectile, but the council will skin you alive if they caught you with one."

John pulled opened his coat and slipped the blades into his belt. " Lead the way Kari."

They took off at a run back the way Kari had come. John was about to ask why Kari hadn't run home to get her parents. The answer came when they arrived at the spot of the confrontation only three houses away.

 _Closer, duh._ The girl wasn't dumb. Go to the nearest person you know you can trust.

" They went in there," Kari said, pointing to the woods.

Maj nodded sharply and brought her rifle around. " All right then. Kari, I need you to go wait in Mrs. Holven's house right behind us and get her to contact your parents. We'll go find your brother."

Kari nodded and scurried off to the back door of the house behind them. Maj started off into the woods first, and John followed. John took a glance over his shoulder to see the back door of the house open and Kari step inside.

" Sniff 'em out Ris, you sniff 'em out," Maj urged. Ris snuffled the ground then took off at a trot straight ahead.

" Ever consider Leyn's sick interest to go beyond kids?" John said, keeping his voice low so as not to spook Leyn and give him a reason to run... or kill Dev. " And that he's the one you should be looking at as the reason people keep vanishing?"

" Come now," Maj replied just as quietly. " You've seen Leyn. Some of the folks who've vanished could deal with him easily, and that includes many of the women."

It took a moment for John's eyes to adjust to the gloom, but his hearing was sharpened in the silence. So far, all he could hear was the groan of the trees, and his and Maj's breathing, and their thumping footfalls. " On my world," John said, " original world – the worst killers in history have been nothing more than the scrawny geek next door." He fell silent, listening, then spoke again. " This one guy was able to convince a whole bunch of people to kill for him." Again, silence, listening, then speaking. " Some have stuffed bodies under floors and in cooling units, and never get caught until years later."

Maj flashed him a disgusted look. " Is this supposed to be encouraging? Because it isn't."

" Just letting you in on what I know. People go to a lot of nasty lengths not to get caught." John decided to refrain from the horror stories of killers going as far as turning humans into hamburger and serving them up to house-guests in the form of spaghetti sauce. His cousin had told him about that one, and it still made John's flesh crawl whenever he told it to anyone else.

Ris had slowed to relocate the scent. He kept going forward, but at a pace where he could keep his nose to the ground. The mini-iaret took them up a small rise that revealed nothing on the other side, then down to the other side. The path the scent led them on was erratic, veering, even circling, meaning that Dev had pulled some drastic moves trying to escape his pursuer.

Movement flashed out of the corner of John's eye on the left, and he reacted by whipping around and raising his blade. Except nothing was there.

" See something?" Maj asked.

John shook his head. They kept going. The silence was heavy, almost like an actual, physical weight pressing on their ears, even with the branches creaking and clacking together when a breeze rushed by. John rolled and twisted his neck trying to take the entire forest in at a glance, even craning his head back to look up into the trees in case the boy had got it in his head to climb instead of keep running. The branches were burnt umber dark against the solid gray sky, knobby, twisted, and clawed like fleshless limbs reaching for one another, and not because they wanted to shake hands or embrace. John looked back down to the less intimidating trunks.

 _If some spiny monster in a red cloak comes at me, I quit._

Ris led them deeper into the forest to where the trees grew taller, thicker, and more clustered in some areas. The iaret suddenly lifted its head, and trotted over to a gnarled gray tree with a wide base. Ris began nipping and pulling at the bare shrubs tangled around the base of the tree, then hopping up and down.

" You find something, boy?" Maj asked hiking up her skirts in one hand to hurry over. " What is it, Ris, what'd you find?"

" Miss Maj?" A small, pale hand poked out from between the shrubs, followed by a second, and pushed the shrubs apart. Dev's head followed after, and the boy's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. " Miss Maj! Mr. Sheppard!" Dev squeezed his skinny body out from between the shrubs. John snatched a glimpse of a deep alcove within the base of the tree, big enough for the boy to hide in if he curled up tight. Dev stumbled to the ground as soon as he popped free, picked himself up, and threw himself into Maj's arms, sobbing.

" He was gonna kill me, miss Maj, he said he would! Said he was gonna skin me! I was just trying to get him off of Kari...!"

Maj patted and rubbed the boy's dirt-stained back. John came up beside them and lowered into a crouch to study the part of the boy's face he could see. There were smudges of dirt, and a hairline scratch, but no bruises or a split lip, which meant that Leyn had never been able to grab him.

Dev opened his eyes to look at Sheppard, then wiped them. " He was going after Kari again," he said, as though there could never be enough explanations for almost being killed. John nodded in understanding.

" I know Dev, she told us. Did you see where Leyn went?"

Dev lifted his head away from Maj, wiping his other eye. " I was able to lose him long enough to hide. Then I saw him run past where I was hiding, shouting how he was going to kill me..." the boy's breath hitched in a hiccup, but he quickly composed himself, his voice growing steadier the more he talked. " He walked on by, up that rise." He pointed to the small hill several feet away on the boy's right. " He was still shouting, but it was getting farther and farther away. Then..." he squinted in perplexity. " Then... I think... I think I heard him scream. And not angry scream either. Kind of really high. I've never heard anyone scream like that, so I don't know what it was. It stopped real suddenly too, and not like a short scream. It was really long, then gone."

A hiss from Ris brought all three of their gazes to the iaret. Ris was standing on the other side of the tree, staring at the small hill Dev had pointed to, head down and back arched like a pissed cat.

John rose and pulled both the blades from his belt. " Cover me."

Maj didn't ask questions. She pushed Dev behind her, and moved her rifle back to the front of her. John approached the hill, slowly, listening and watching. He slowed further as he crested the rise toward the top, keeping his head low should he need to drop for any reason – namely the reason of getting shot at. Movement flickered in and out on his right. John turned only his eyes and only for a breath, and saw nothing. When he was closer to the top, he craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of a hand or piece of cloth of someone lying low on the other side. Foot by foot, as he saw nothing, he approached the top until he was finally there.

Below, he saw nothing. More trees, bare shrubs, and not much else.

Movement came and went quick as lightning adjacent to the left and several yards away. Then, from somewhere to the right, he heard a voice. He felt a presence, there and gone, and another brief snatch of motion straight ahead, deeper in the forest.

John's heart thundered like a train engine. A drop of sweat ran down his spine, tickling the sensitive nerve endings beneath the skin.

More movement, but John didn't try to see it. He knew damn well he wouldn't see anything.

He knew this, was familiar to it, conditioned to it, and the familiarity made his heart beat timid and fast.

" Oh no," he breathed. He snapped around, and raced back to where Maj and Dev waited. " Time to go," he said in his flat, no-argument and no-wasting-time tone of voice, pointless on someone who knew not to waste time or ask inane questions. John scooped up Dev and they moved at a brisk trot back through the woods with Ris leading the way.

They slowed the moment they stepped from the woods back into the open. Maj set Dev down and ushered him off into the house to wait for his parents, and she was about to follow him inside.

" Maj, wait," John said. Maj stopped six feet away from the door and turned, waiting for an explanation as to what was going on, but not pushing for one.

" We need to find Jorsek," John said and swallowed back the bitter taste the words brought. He swallowed again, cleared his throat, and continued. " We need to find Jorsek, tell him what happened."

Maj calmly swung the strap of her rifle onto her shoulder. " He'll blame you, John. He'll accuse you of having done something to Leyn."

John swallowed a third time. Hell yeah he knew. " Doesn't matter." John set his features into a grim look of determination. " Leyn's more than likely dead right now, but Jorsek's still the chief protector of this village, and the people need to know. Jorsek'll catch on anyways, probably blame me anyways, so might as well get it over with."

Maj just stood there, still as stone, and face just as blank. Then, she lifted one eyebrow, and smiled. " I swear, every day, I see a little more of my Fiel in you."

John grinned back. Maj stopped trying to imitate a tree and walked up beside John so they could head into the town together. " Your heart's pure as new-fallen snow, John..."

John huffed a dry, caustic laugh. " I doubt that. More like snow with a few yellow spots."

" You didn't let me finish. But you don't always have the sense to go with it."

" Hey, it's the right thing to do."

Maj held up a hand. " I'm not arguing that it isn't. But it isn't going to turn out pretty."

John snickered again. " You're preaching to the choir, Maj."

" Huh?"

" Never mind."

They slowed almost to a stop when the otherwise tense silence was scarred by the distant ringing of a bell.

John's heart did a little uncomfortable skip. " No way they could have found out that fast."

Maj's brow lowered forming two wrinkles in her forehead. " No." And they sped back up, climbing to a brisk run toward the center of town and the Gathering Stage.

People were already starting to mill in like lost sheep, but it would be a while before the entire population congregated around the platform. John's stomach twisted as he searched the incoming faces until he caught Jorsek's auburn hair bright like a flame in the gray world. He snagged the sleeve of Maj's coat, tugged, and indicated Jorsek's whereabouts with a jerk of his head.

John tried to convince himself that his need not to confront Jorsek alone was simply a precautionary measure. And it was. People were more inclined to listen to two witnesses than one. John's ego wouldn't have him admitting to anything else – at least out loud. Internally, all someone had to do was check his pulse to know the truth. His heart was beating harder now than when he'd been running. Jorsek alone wasn't so much a reason to be nervous, but the entire posse of eight was plenty reason.

They were going to blame John. Blame him and take him down in front of an entire town of onlookers hell bent on cheering the posse on as they mutilated the filthy off-worlder into impossible new shapes.

And still John headed toward them, heart pounding, instincts screaming, but neither brain nor legs listening. As with all fears and all worries, he shoved them into the garbage pit of his mind, and sharpened all thought to a pinpoint line honed directly on the goal.

" Hey Jorsek!" John called.

Jorsek, engaged in a conversation with Mris he appeared only mildly interested in, glanced around until his sights fell on John and narrowed dangerously. Jorsek's posse already began forming around him like iron pellets to a magnet. Jorsek pushed away from Mris and stepped up toward John.

" Sheppard?" his voice was low, dead-pan, and heavy on the warning. He gave Maj a twitch of a glance that acknowledged her presence without showing that her presence bothered him in any way.

John hooked his thumbs into the belt normally used to hold up his BDUs, adopting an air of calm while simultaneously keeping his hands near the handles of his bladed sticks. He then tilted his head toward the stage.

" Is this current get together something important?" John asked. " Or do you think you could spare a couple of hours for a man hunt? 'Cause I thought I should warn you that your buddy Leyn's up and vanished in the woods. And since you're so dead-set on protecting him, you might want to be doing that protecting thing right now."

Jorske's eyes glittered with the onset of gradually burning rage. " What did you do to him Sheppard?"

John darkened his own gaze, and fought fire with ice. " Not a damn thing. It was your buddy's own fault. He took off after a kid, we took off after him to get the kid back, found the kid, but didn't find him. According to that kid, he heard Leyn make a really loud yelling sound that from the kid's description sounded like a scream of fear. So you can either stand there having a pissing contest with me, or pull your head out of your ass and go look for Leyn."

Leyn the younger stepped forward, his rage already forest fire blazing. " He's lying! He hates my brother! Why would he come tell us that something's happen to him? Unless he's covering up for what he's done!"

Leyn the younger took another couple of forward steps with violent intent, only to stop when Gidel showed up next to Maj, his rifle already unslung and still looking menacing resting against Gidel's shoulder.

" Because I'm not a murderer," John said. " Yeah, I think Leyn is a dirt bag, but I'm not all that quick with the vindication. And he's not the first dirt bag I went out of my way not to kill. Look, I'm doing you a favor here, giving you the heads up, so either take it and go find Leyn or leave it and let his name top the casualty list."

Jorsek went unreadable. Even the spark of heated rage had sputtered and died. John maintained eye contact with the man, and through that alone John knew that Jorsek was witnessing pure honesty, which was something Jorsek had probably never really seen before. In turn, he probably didn't know what to make of it.

Except to say that he couldn't deny it. Jorsek only had two choices here, after all. Ignore what Sheppard said at let Leyn the younger beat Sheppard into oblivion, or listen to Sheppard and go help Leyn the older. Except to not listen to Sheppard, even laying the blame on John, wasn't going to keep Jorsek in Leyn the younger's good graces for long. Younger Leyn would still end up hating Jorsek for not doing away with Sheppard sooner. Which would still happen, because Sheppard was pretty certain that older Leyn was no longer amongst the living.

Out of the frying pan and into the nuclear fallout. Losing one man could very well cause the others to pull away, believing that Jorsek was no longer reliable as the man who could ensure giving them whatever they wanted.

Jorsek took another step forward, right into John's personal space. The rage didn't return. There was only suspicion – deep, calculating suspicion.

" What is this?" Jorsek asked quietly for only John to hear. " What have you done?"

John's jaw clenched with frustration. John's injuries began to throb as though Jorsek's presence had reawakened them. Never had John wanted anything more than to tell that man to go burn in hell with Leyn. John hated Jorsek, like he hated Koyla. Never any love loss for his tormentors. But darned if John wasn't better than either of them. He _was_ better than them, and he could say it without coming across as prideful or self-elevating. John let Koyla live, and Koyla doubled the pain of their next encounter. Jorsek wouldn't hesitate to shoot John even if Leyn came back alive and unharmed. Jorsek was just that kind of guy, like Koyla. They didn't deserve having done right by them, and here John was, doing right by everyone he despised. Everyone who caused him pain.

" I didn't do anything," John gritted out, roping in his indignation – yet again. " What I'm doing is the right thing. Something's happened to Leyn, and you need to go out there and find him while you still can."

" He's lying!" younger Leyn screamed, and surged forward to shove John back. John would have fallen if Maj hadn't caught his arm. Leyn stalked forward for another shove. " He hurt my brother!"

But Sheppard beat Leyn to it, and shoved him instead. " I didn't touch your brother! I'm trying to help him, and I don't even know why the hell I am!"

" Shut up!" Leyn screamed. " You killed him! You killed my brother!" Again the younger Leyn lunged with hands outstretched going for Sheppard's throat. John grabbed Leyn's wrists, while several people – not of Jorsek's posse – grabbed at Leyn trying to haul him back. All around them, people shouted, and the bell tolled.

Then it stopped.

" I said what is going on here!"

The struggle ceased, and everyone stilled for a breath. The crowd began to part in either direction. Leyn was pulled back, and John released him, stepping back himself. A man only an inch shorter than Sheppard stepped between the two men. He had an oval face, with a narrow chin made arrow-head sharp by a neatly trimmed gray goatee. His head was completely bald except for around the base of the skull where a few iron gray wisps remained.. He wore a long coat of salt-and pepper gray, black gloves, and black boots. He tugged on the gloves, adjusting them, as he looked indifferently between John and Leyn. Accompanying him was a young soldier dressed in dark blue fatigues and a dark blue jacket with a rifle hanging from his shoulder.

" Would someone be so kind as to answer my question?" the man said. Had the man a mustache, he would have completed John's picture of the devil in his golden years of life.

" Who are you?" Leyn snarled, thoroughly pissed at being denied his violent go at Sheppard.

" You may call me Mr. Tarl. I was sent here by the heads of government per your council's request for someone to come and investigate your string of recent disappearances. And now that I have answered your question, would you please answer mine?"

Since everyone else seemed too bewildered to do so, John took the opportunity to say his peace.

" There may have been a recent disappearance," he said. " I came in to spread the word and, um," he pointed at younger Leyn, " he kind of got upset. It's his brother who vanished."

Tarl raised a thin eyebrow and looked at Leyn. " And you felt this warranted a reason to attack this man?"

Leyn the younger, gritting his teeth, pointed a trembling finger at John. " He did it! I know he did! He hated my brother!"

" And I didn't deny that I hated him," Sheppard jumped in. " And I told little boy Leyn here that I'm not the kind of guy who's into revenge."

Tarl looked from John, then back to Leyn. " One would have to wonder why a man would kill another man, then attempt to rally a search party to find that man."

" To cover up for what he did," Jorsek calmly, self-assuredly, stated.

Tarl frowned thoughtfully. " Mm, yes, I suppose. Is there a river nearby where he could have dumped the body? A ravine? Cliffs?"

" Iaret cliffs," said the bearded man.

Maj grinned. " Iarets don't consume the flesh of the species that feed them. All those times someone's died falling from those cliffs, the bodies have never been touched."

Tarl inclined his head as though absorbing this piece of information. " My point, good people, is that I have read the reports concerning these disappearances, and in every one you have been unable to find the body, even with the use of iaret's. If this man had indeed done away with your brother, good sir, I doubt there would be sufficient places for him to hide the body where an iaret would not be able to locate."

And John was an off-worlder who knew his way around the unexplored halls of Atlantis better than this valley. He wouldn't know where to stash a body. Of course neither side said this out loud since there was no reason to. They all realized it.

Unless Jorsek wanted to bring Maj in on the accusations, but he had yet to, and John doubted he would. There was just no messing with the good friend of one's mother, and an off-world traveler who may have nasty alien devices at her disposal. For once, it paid to be an off-worlder of one kind or another.

Tarl sniffed, and clasped his hands behind his back. " It seems that I have arrived just in time. Apparently, the situation has escalated to each of you being at eachother's throats."

" No," said Gidel. " It's always been that way."

Tarl didn't seem to hear, or probably didn't care. " I am stating now that unless the body of the recent victim is found, there is to be no finger pointing. We must all work together if we are to discover the culprit of these atrocities. Starting with a search for the most recent victim. Those already armed in some manner I would ask to accompany the search." Tarl then turned to John. " Do you know the location of the recent victim's last known where abouts?"

John nodded. " Yeah, I think so."

Maj bent and gathered Ris into her arms. " My iaret can sniff out the trail."

Tarl inclined his head. " Good. Then let's not waste any more time, and see what there is to discover."

Tarl moved the rest of the way through the crowd, starting the charge at a swift walk. Everyone just gawked after him, until Gidel sighed, shrugged, and followed, snapping everyone from their bewildered stupor to do the same.

TBC...


	18. The Ruins

John was quite cleanly off the hook. There was no body to be found, and Dev's side of the story was also testimony to John's innocence and Leyn the older's less than savory nature. John would have exhaled a right happy breath of relief if it hadn't been for the murderous look in Leyn the younger's eyes, and Jorsek's more unnervingly undecipherable stare. John would have preferred the heated glares of a pissed Jorsek. Anger was predictable, as were the actions that followed. Whether Jorsek was up to something or had simply stopped caring, John couldn't tell. Although he wasn't going to settle on Jorsek no longer caring.

The thrown together search party had spread in a ragged circumference from the spot John had led them to. Tarl demanded a thorough search that left no bent twig unturned or scent snorted up through an iaret's snout. Except the iarets brought in seemed confused about what smell it was they were supposed to follow, including Ris. They sniffed, snorted, and dug their noses into the dirt. They would follow a trail, stop, and start circling and hopping about in chirping agitation.

" Happens every time," Maj had commented. " Either the scent's all muddled or they're refusing to go any further."

John was going with the latter. The iarets weren't going any further, no matter the coaxing and threats.

There were signs of footsteps – said bent twigs, crushed leaves, and tread in the bare spots of ground but too obscure to make anything of. The hunters of the village were used to animal tracks, not human, and could only follow the tracks so far before they became interspersed with that of animal.

The search was called off a few hours before twilight, and everyone started heading back. When they stepped out of the woods, Tarl had them stick around so they could gather names to keep an inventory just in case someone else decided to up and vanish between tonight and tomorrow. Tarl also wanted names to be able to call on people to aid him in the investigation. Mandatory aid, he said, which meant when he summoned, you came.

After a name was taken, that person was free to go. John was number twelve after Tarl took the names of all the protectors and a couple of other nearby men. The light wasn't gone, and there was enough left for Tarl to have a good look at John, especially all the colorful bruises and cuts marking up his face. Tarl's scrutiny lingered on them for a moment despite having all of today to take note of them

If Tarl had anything to say about them – witty comment or witless need to point out their existence – he didn't indulge in it. He studied John's face, then pulled his gaze down to the clip-less clipboard with his papers. " Name?" he asked.

" John Sheppard."

Tarl's eyes darted back to John's face for the space of two heartbeats, then back to the paper. " How do you spell that?"

When John spelled his own name, Tarl didn't hide his confusion. Maj stepped in and spelled for John, converting English letters into Iothian, which John was quite impressed by. According to both McKay and Weir, the dominant language being already some form of English wasn't simply dumb luck or a fluke. John didn't recall all the details – something about the Ancient language on earth developing into Latin and so on – but supposedly it was inevitable that Ancient would lead to English. Only the writing styles varied from planet to planet, though many worlds had writing either remarkably similar or exactly the same as English.

Some days John didn't know whether to smack the Ancients or hug them.

What surprised John wasn't that Maj knew English spelling, but that she was able to convert the two styles so quickly.

Tarl jotted John's name down using Iothian letters. " We are to leave for the ruins at first sunlight," he said. " And are to meet at the town square before then. Please try not to be late."

With that said, Tarl moved on to Gidel while pointedly ignoring Maj, making it quite clear that this expedition was only for the men folk. Quite ignorantly sexist of the man what with Maj having been the one to follow Leyn and attacker's vague trail the farthest. It made John appreciate that he lived in a time where he didn't think twice about having a woman on his team. He'd be dead a long time ago if it hadn't been for Teyla.

When Gidel's name was jotted, the little family group was free to head home with light enough still to see by. All the same, Gidel pulled out his flashlight, keeping the beam on the path ahead and occasionally casting it into the already darkened woods.

" He really should have asked you to come," John said to Maj.

Maj waved a nonchalant hand of dismissal. " Bah! He didn't want a little old lady like me slowin' the trek. Of course, he's old ways, could tell by his bearing. He wouldn't have asked me if I was young and pretty. But I wish he hadn't asked you. I know you're on the mend, John, but it's plain as a cloudless summer day that you've been recently injured, and I'd rather you not procure any new injuries."

Gidel clasped his meaty hand lightly on John's lean shoulder. " I'll catch him if he so much at trips on a root."

" What I'm more worried about is Jorsek and his lot. You two need to be watching for them. He was right sneaky about getting you once, John, and he can certainly do it again."

To John's increasingly heart-sinking detriment, he had to agree with Maj. John was all fine and dandy with showing Jorsek that John Sheppard was no push over who crawled into holes and hid just because of a little torture. But facing facts, the man made John nervous, and he would rather avoid a repeat session with the paranoid thug.

" Guess I'll just have to stay out of his way," John said, and could only hope it was enough.

John hunched his shoulders to bring up the collar of his coat and shield the lower half of his face from the gusty arctic wind as he trudge through the woods beside Gidel. The large search team was spread haphazardly, with John and Gidel taking up the rear as their means of avoiding Jorsek and his boys. Dry needles, old bark, and dead twigs crunched and snapped under their heavy boot tread. It was loud in what would have been otherwise an all-encompassing silence, smothering the moan and creak of the trees into ignorable back-ground noise. John didn't find the lack of silence settling. The noise grated on his military conditioned nerves.

All hope of catching the killer or killers unaware skulking about the ruins was insufficiently shot to hell. Sheppard could grudgingly understand Tarl's neatly packaged approach of establishing the perimeter _then_ set about taking down the bad guy. It's just John was used to establishing a situation that allowed for a 'kill two birds with one stone' approach. If you could get the bad guy during the reconnaissance, then do it and maybe you'll get lucky enough to call it a day.

It was a bit of a ways to the ruins on foot. Thanks to Jorsek, John's strength had taken a couple of small steps back, and by the time he saw the first flash of gray walls through the trees, he was breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and starting to lag behind Gidel. He was feeling a little pathetic about it, and therefore pissed as well.

" Spread out!" Tarl called from somewhere ahead. His voice was sharp and cracking, like a whip. " I want every inch of this structure scoured. And not just with your eyes. Search out secret doors and loose stones that might provide a hidden entrance."

The group dispersed, and John and Gidel made sure to go the opposite way of Jorsek and his boys.

The structure that constituted the ruins John could already tell was massive in terms of perimeter, but varied in height. He and Gidel went around a wall two stories in height, to a section three stories in height. The walls were smooth, solid, and it made John wonder if it had been carved out of a small mountain. The cracks in the wall and rubble-littered ground didn't make the place any less imposing. It felt less like a ruin and more like a recently abandoned stronghold after a pretty fierce battle. Which maybe it was at one time.

When they were out of sight of the rest of the escort party, John sat down on the nearest pile of rubble for a breather, pulling out his water bottle, unscrewing the cap, and taking a massive swig. Gidel leaned his shoulder against the smooth wall and drank from his own canteen.

" You know," Gidel said, his breathing a little on the heavy side, which made John feel somewhat less pathetic, " Tarl's free to spout his know-it-allism like he actually has a lick of a clue as to what he's doing, but we're not all a lot of backward mud diggers. We've been all over these ruins and haven't found flesh nor fur of an entrance, hidden or otherwise."

John wiped the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his coat. " And you never thought to just blow open the entrance to check things out inside?"

Gidel shrugged. " Thought of that myself a few times. But on Ioth there's been this long standing belief that when something's closed off, you don't open it back up again. My pa believed it was because half our victory over the wraith was because we trapped them in places to starve. For the most part, though, I think most folk believe that once we open this place up, it'll be used by the brigands as a future camp, and we really can't have that."

John pursed his lips. " Makes sense," and he took another drink. " I'd say why not blow the whole thing to hell, but I'm guessing it has some kind of historical significance to your people."

" More like practical significance. It's always been said that if we needed a sound structure to hide in for whatever reason, then the ruins are it. Until then, they remain sealed." Gidel stuffed his canteen into his pocket so he could fold his thick arms across his broad chest. " Aunt Maj told me about the chase yesterday. She said you were downright spooked to the tips of your hair about something but you never said what. I'm not usually one to pry, but Maj was quite curious. She would have asked except you'd already slipped off to bed to be down close to dead for the night."

John massaged the back of his neck uncomfortably. Gidel's tone wasn't accusing, but John couldn't help feeling like he was being accused of withholding something vital. However, he'd been true about going up to bed without another word or supper. He'd been exhausted.

" Too much in one day," he said, which was fact, but still felt like an excuse.

" I don't doubt that, John," Gidel said in good humor, " and I'm not claiming you neglectful in telling anything. I was just wondering if you caught a glimpse of something. I've been meaning to ask all morning but got a little distracted trying to catch glimpses of that something myself."

John looked over and up at Gidel. The bigger man's casual stance and inquisitive expression made his tone out to be genuine. He really was curious, and John had to wonder if the man harbored a curious nature under the nonchalance.

" People claim to have glimpsed _somethin',"_ Gidel said. " But they can never make foot nor hair of it. Was there somethin' or was it more just a feeling? Because people get that too though I usually don't take much note of it. Most tend to see and feel all kinds of things when plenty spooked."

John looked away into the forest at nothing in particular. He wanted to word everything just right. Nothing was a certainty, and though Gidel was pretty level headed, words tended to get twisted when passed around from mouth to mouth.

" I didn't _really_ see anything," John finally said. " I thought I did... The thing is, Gidel..." John huffed a frustrated sigh, then pivoted around on his seat to face the large man. " Oaky, I'll level with you on the condition that you take what I say as a theory and not at face value."

Gidel jerked his head in a single nod. " All right. I can do that."

" Good." John glanced around to ensure that they were alone. " Because I'd hate to be the one who started the rumor that led to a panic riot." He looked back to Gidel. " I can't describe to you what I saw or thought I saw, and chances are I didn't really see anything. I kind of saw, and I kind of felt, and what I felt was familiarity. I felt like I was being watched, and that I was surrounded, and the fact that I couldn't get a fix on whatever was flitting out of the corner of my eye only made it all worse. The last time I felt that way, and the last time I saw but didn't really see..." John cleared his throat and glanced down, fidgeting with the cap of his canteen. " The last time that happened was because wraith were around."

John forced his gaze to move hesitantly upward in order to observe Gidel's reaction. Gidel stared down at Sheppard with both eyebrows raised, a little startled but otherwise not panicked nor skeptical, which John was grateful for. He hated skepticism, especially in a galaxy where nothing was impossible.

" I'm not saying there's a wraith around," John emphasized. " It's just... That's what it felt like. A wraith situation."

Gidel's eyebrows remained hovering an inch below his shaved hairline for a moment, then drew together when he shifted to have his shoulder higher up the wall.

" Huh," was all he said. He remained pensive for a moment. " Well, I honestly hope that's only a theory or we're all up to our necks in fodder."

John nodded. " The thing is, if it was a wraith you'd think you'd have an entire hive taking a nose-dive toward your planet by now. Once the signal's sent that there's an all you can eat buffet for the taking, there's no hesitation on a hive's part to head over, and you and Maj said these disappearances have been happening for a while now." Now it was Sheppard's turn to go pensive, and he gnawed the edge of his tongue nervously as he thought. " I suppose... That whatever's keeping the wraith off this planet could have also trapped a wraith or two _on_ the planet. In which case it's less that you're up to you neck in crap and more that you're up to your waist."

Sheppard, feeling a lot less spent, pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, and Gidel pushed off from the wall.

" What do we do if it's a wraith?" Gidel said, taking up Sheppard's pace as they resumed a casual trek following the wall of the structure.

" Get a hell of a lot of ammo, fill the wraith with that ammo, then cut its throat the moment it's down. Or better yet, chop off it's head. You could also let the thing self-destruct itself. That's always fun. Dangerous, painful, really stupid if you're standing three feet away when it happens, but fun."

Gidel grunted his understanding. " Never seen a wraith. Saw their ships once during a cull back when I was a teenager. Maj and I, plus a few others, were heading to a town when they came. We took shelter in a cave. Must have been a quick cull since they never showed up."

John stepped over what looked to be a chunk from a corner wall half embedded in the ground and walled in by dead weeds. " Has Maj ever seen 'em?"

" Once. Came in after a culling and found one dead. Or what she thought was dead. She said the thing was just lying there, then all of a sudden it'd bolted upright, reaching for her."

John smiled tightly. " Yeah, they love doing that."

" She wasn't alone at the time, and the group she was with did exactly as you said – filled it full of projectiles. Then they burned it."

John held up a finger. " Even better."

John explained to Gidel the ability of the wraith to create illusions, and about Teyla's ability to sense them (leaving out the part of her being a smidgen wraith). The perimeter of the ruins was long and all over the place rather than going straight on like the defensive wall of a castle or fortress. They passed two other members of the search party who seemed more interested in their conversation than searching for hidden doors. John couldn't blame them. He tapped on the walls with the tip of his blade stick, kicked at sections, and even tapped and listened with his ear pressed against the cold stone. Gidel mostly slapped the wall or shoved at it, and with very little enthusiasm.

They stopped to rest by a shorter section of wall that John took to studying. By standing on a chunk of wall debris, and had he been able to stretch his full length without pulling his ribs, his fingertips would have brushed the edge of the top.

This gave John an idea.

" Hey Gidel. Think you could give me a boost?"

Gidel moved to stand beside Sheppard and stare up at the top of the wall. " Sure about it? The walls might be sturdy but there's no telling what the top's made of."

John shrugged. " Only one way to find out."

Gidel bent his knees and intertwined his fingers to from a step. John placed his foot in Gidel's hands, and his own hands he pressed against the wall. With one, massive heave, Gidel practically flung Sheppard upward within reach of the wall's rim. John threw his arms onto the edge and hauled himself up and over onto a solid rock roof.

John stood, dusting off his hands, and looked down at Gidel with a grin. " It's made of rock."

Gidel shrugged and folded his arms. " Doesn't mean it's solid rock. And Maj'll have my hide if you fall through."

" I won't."

" And you know this how?"

" I just like to think positive. And the weak points are usually where the most cracks are, and usually in the center. So I know what to watch out for. I shouldn't be long anyways."

John then turned to survey the top of the structure. It was uneven, like a collection of block structures that had been smashed then welded together.

" This place must be one hell of a maze on the inside," John called for Gidel to hear.

" I've been told that was one of the reasons for it being sealed," Gidel called. " So no one would wander in and get lost."

" And the other being the keep the brigands out," John said.

" Yeah. Though I've also heard tale that it was sealed to keep something in."

John frowned uncomfortably. " Of course," he muttered to himself. " And I'd bet my entire next paycheck that it isn't working." He wondered, and not for the first time, if there was some way to squeeze hazard pay out of this. He was pretty sure he'd earn a couple of good overtime bonuses to have him set for life with all the crap he kept going through.

John kept to the edges of the roof as he skirted the buildings. He didn't have anything particular in mind for what he was looking for. This was one of those situations where he would know it when he saw it.

And he did see it the moment he began hauling himself up onto a higher rooftop. He had his chest over the wall when he spotted it, so pulled himself the rest of the way for a closer look.

A hole; gaping jagged and ink black in the center of the roof, spider-webbing the top in tiny cracks like broken glass. It was big enough for John to squeeze through though it would mean a nice collection of nicks and bruises for the effort. He nudged a pebble with his toe toward the edge, then kicked it the rest of the way in. Silence, silence, silence, then a small 'ping' of a clatter.

" I'll definitely bet my next paycheck that this isn't the only hole."

To prove his own point, John went to the next section of structure taller than the one he was standing on and pulled himself up. He was afforded a pretty good view of most of the ruins before it was obstructed by even taller sections. He saw several more holes; some in the center, some the corners, and one roof with three. There was no determining size from where John stood, but it didn't matter. Where there was a bunch of holes, there was bound to be a few large enough for a body to get through, along with the means to reach it.

John didn't know whether to feel smug that he'd made this discovery, or even more worried over the possibility of the ruins being sealed to keep something in, because had his bet been for real, he'd have some extra money to burn.

John headed back to the section where Gidel waited, and slipped feet first over the edge that scraped his ribs and made him choke on a yelp of pain. He dropped the rest of the way down, bending at the knees to take the impact, and straightened swiping his dirty hands onto his pant legs.

" Well?" Gidel asked, trying not to sound anxious and actually doing a pretty good job of it. His eyes had betrayed him, however.

John rubbed at his aching side, and grimaced. " You're not going to like it."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssss

They had to wait for a ladder to be brought in, which meant they had to wait for someone to go fetch it. It was late afternoon by the time that someone had returned. The sky was still light but twilight always came early to the woods. Not enough to make it hard to see, just enough to make the cold sharper and the shadows more expansive. The search party was gathered at the front – or what was considered the front – of the ruins. John and Gidel made sure to stand at the farthest end away from Jorsek and his boys. Yet not out of sight. Jorsek was staring at John, and though Jorsek's face didn't express much, the hostility was a given. After all, John had made the discovery that Jorsek -the chief village protector - should have made a long time ago.

Like tossing kerosene and gun powder onto a bonfire. Too bad John knew for a fact that Jorsek didn't like him, because that left absolute 'kill you without a second thought' hatred. And John _really_ didn't want to end up hanging by his wrists again.

When the ladder arrived and was placed against the wall, Tarl had John lead the way onto the roof, then over the sections of various heights like geometrically perfect rough terrain. They didn't go far, just to the nearest hole that wasn't even big enough for John to get through. Didn't matter as it was proof enough that there were indeed ways of getting in and out of this place. Tarl and his two uniformed assistants took out flashlights and cast the beams into the perfect darkness. The three circles of light danced like rat-sized fireflies on what looked to be a stone floor far below. The light also flashed off of wooden beams, and scattered debris of stone and wood.

The three men discussed the find as though Sheppard weren't there.

" If the debris were high enough..." Tarl said, pointing and gesturing down at the hole, " perhaps a few beams fallen beneath the right sized hole..."

They talked about finding the right hole where someone would be able to get in and out easily, then setting up some sort of surveillance to trap this someone. Or having all the men of the village take point throughout the top of the structure by the largest holes, and leave a few on the ground should the kidnapper slip passed. One man suggested they blow the front entrance open.

" That would create two escape routes," Tarl said. " So long as there is only one door out, the kidnapper will have no choice but to take it once he becomes desperate for food and water."

 _Unless the kidnapper's a wraith._ Then he can just pop in and out like a snake striking a passing mouse. John wanted to say as much but already doubted that it would make any difference. Wraith or human, if this kidnapper was good enough not to leave a trail, he'd find a way to slip passed whatever watch Tarl set up. Either that or take each man down one at a time.

" It would be better if we were able to find the single hole in particular this person has been using..."

John had to hand it to Tarl – he wasn't stupid. But he didn't have to sound so indifferent about it all, as though it were nothing more than a big waste of his time. People were vanishing, and the one pulling these magician acts was too good to be natural. John wasn't even from this world and he was well aware that there was something freakishly off about all of it. The least Tarl could have done was to sound the tiniest bit intrigued.

When the mumbling discussions were finished, Tarl and his men headed back down the ladder forcing John to come last. Tarl raised his arms for silence from the gathered men, then dropped them.

" Tonight, I would ask all of you to stay in doors, your families with you. The situation is too complicated to warrant a quick solution, and a plan must be formed that will end this quickly and without consequence."

Jorsek stepped forward out of the crowd. " Why not just blast the entrance and flush the piece of fodder out?"

Several men nodded and murmured in agreement.

Tarl gave Jorsek a somewhat disdainful, but otherwise patient, look as though the man were the biggest idiot on the planet, to which John would have to agree.

" Because," Tarl said, " This structure is massive, and the kidnapper knows it better than we do. If we were to come at him from the front, he would slip out the back, through on of the holes in the ceiling. This kidnapper has been clever enough to elude you for many months, now. To catch him, we must play his game, play at being as smart if not smarter than him. This requires careful planning, and patience. I was sent here _by your request_ to end this nightmare. And I cannot end it if I do not have your full cooperation and understanding. So have patience, and you will have your justice."

Tarl had spoken and that was that. The men mumbled in annoyance, but Tarl ignored it and brushed by leading the way from the ruins and back to the village. They were done here, whether anyone liked it or not. One by one, like water trickling through a crack, the men grudgingly followed. John and Gidel took up the rear once again, and John eyed Jorsek carefully.

Jorsek and his men had gathered in a tight group, and were talking quietly.

" I say we just close off all the holes," Gidel said, " let the trash starve, wraith or human. Think that would work?"

John never took his eyes from Jorsek. " Yeah. Actually it would, as long as you blocked off the holes with something a wraith can't punch through."

" Uh-huh. What can't they punch through?"

John shrugged. " Metal, maybe. If it's thick enough. Of course a desperate, starving wraith is liable to punch through anything, or at least damage itself trying. I did mention their healing capabilities, right?"

Gidel nodded.

John held up a single finger. " Not a bad idea, though. More like a last ditch effort, though, in case everything else doesn't pan out."

Jorsek glanced over his shoulder, in John's direction, then quickly looked away. John narrowed his eyes.

" And especially so long as no one tries anything stupid."

TBC...


	19. The Hunt

John awoke with his eyelids snapping open and a quiet gasp. In the blue-gray wintry darkness he saw a head-shaped blob hovering over him. He jerked in alarm, intending to shove himself away, when two hands gripped his shoulders lightly.

" John, it's all right. You need to wake up."

John blinked. The head shape might have been a mystery but the voice was clearly Maj's. He blinked several times, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, a few details of Maj's face came into focus.

" Wha...? Maj?" John arched his back a little off the bed in a stretch. " Ris hissing again?"

Maj moved away over to the small stove. She tossed in wood that clunked against the back of the thing. A small thread of bright light from the tiny laser illuminated her hand, and fire sparked and flared to life.

" Ris is fine," Maj said, pocketing the laser. " Seems there's been a breakthrough in the planning. Tarl wants everyone to meet at the ruins. Someone's come to fetch you, so up with you and get dressed."

After relighting the fire, Maj went to flip on the switch to the electric bulb, spreading wan light through the room. John pushed himself upright and rolled his stiff shoulders, then swung his legs out from under the warm covers. The cold hit his feet, seeping up the loose legs of his pants, and also down the wide collar of the white shirt Maj had given him to sleep in, making him shiver. Maj left him to change out of the shirt and loose trousers into his black shirt, second wide-collar shirt, and clean but still blood-stained BDUs that had definitely seen better days. He was yanking on his boots and tying the laces when Maj returned carrying what had officially become his coat.

John stood, and took the two bladed sticks off the work table to slip into his belt. " You hear anything on what they're planning?"

Maj shook her head. " Just that there is a plan, and it's to happen as soon as everyone is gathered."

As John adjusted the blades so they wouldn't slip out, he studied Maj's face. She was attempting to go for expressionless, but her tension, and the stony look of disapproval, wasn't doing the attempt any favors. Finally, putting action to her state of mind, she moved over to John's bed and pulled his 9-mil out from under the pillow.

" Take this with you. Keep it hidden."

John took it and tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back. " Is there something you're not telling me?"

" Believe me, if I knew something you would be the first to know. I just don't like it. It's too soon. They said Gidel's already gone ahead, but I don't know why. He would have come to get you first."

John slipped into his coat. " Did you call him up?"

" He won't be there. He's usually out tending to his animals around this time and won't be in until it's light out." Maj placed her hands on John's arms, the dropped her pretense of self control. " John, listen. I've got an uneasy feeling about this and I'm sorry to say I'm usually not wrong about these things. Whatever's been planned, whatever's done, I want you to be careful. If it turns out to be something foolish that is going to get people killed, I want you and Gidel to find a way to leave. Slip off if you have to, or make excuses, but _do not_ let them pull you into something that could spell your death. Gidel is the only family I have left, and I've worked too hard to save you just to loose you in the end."

Nausea squirmed and threatened in John's gut. Maj looked scared – not worried or concerned, but absolutely frightened. There comes a point in established familiarity in which one realizes that there are certain emotions rarely seen on a person, but the rarity is never realized until seen. An angry Teyla was a scary Teyla. Ronon staring into the eyes of defeat and letting his resolve slip a fraction into momentary fear is sad. A brave, staring down danger McKay is something to be proud of.

Right here and right now, a terrified Maj kept sending a constant stream of arctic shock waves down John's spine. Looks couldn't kill, but boy did they make for some nasty omens.

John responded by placing a hand on Maj's shoulder. He actually felt unsettled enough to want to whine about why he had to go. It was a short lived childish moment, but left the residual attempt at trying to dig up some excuse that would allow him to stay behind. It wasn't him - and he wasn't thinking that to maintain his own dignity. He felt fear like any reasonable, instinctual human. Mostly he just rode it out, used it to build up adrenaline and caution, then shoved it back when the moment of truth came and nothing mattered but the fight ahead. He didn't ponder or question this sudden desire to give into fear, because it wasn't the first time he'd rather avoid the moment of truth. The only difference between now and the lesser times of before was that this wasn't his fight. He went ahead with it because he owed Maj and Gidel, and people like Arvlan and his kids. Good people who'd treated him kindly and humanely. The rest, in all honesty, he didn't give a damn for. Let Jorsek and his boys risk their own ass doing what the town had asked them to do. John was not going to risk his neck so Jorsek could take all the credit.

John especially wasn't going to fight Jorsek.

But neither could he let Gidel go in without backup.

" We'll be all right," John said. One way or another, they would be. John would make sure of it, or at least make sure Gidel got back safe.

Maj gave John a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes. She wanted to believe it, but wouldn't to the point of clinging to it naively. Not that there would be anything she could do about it in the long run. She was just realistic that way.

And she had plenty of reasons to cling to worry rather than hope.

Neither of them said anything more, and headed out of the room down the stairs to where John's 'escort' awaited. On a positive note, John didn't recognize the blond man as anyone from Jorsek's contingent. They headed out into the solid cold morning twilight with air that froze John's trachea on the way to his lungs. Maj stood in the threshold with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Ris trotted out, chirping, looking between Maj who kept calling him back and John watching the house retreat from over his shoulder.

John finally turned his attention to the way ahead, but could still hear Ris chirping. They headed up the road where they were joined by two other men, then veered down another street. They cut through someone's backyard to enter the woods. As soon as the darkness deepened, the three men pulled out flashlights and clicked them on. There was no conversation, and crunching footfalls and heavy breathing made the silence all the more uncomfortable. There came distant sounds, such as the high keening of some animal that was startling in its abruptness, making John flinch. He covered up the reaction with a shiver.

The sky had taken on a lighter hue but the darkness in the forest barely shifted by the time they reached the ruins. The three men led the way around the place to the front entrance where beams of light flickered across the rubble blocking the massive doorway. Human silhouettes near perfectly flushed with the shadows would have been easy to miss if it wasn't for the flashlights. John tried to pick out Gidel's large form from the gathered. He eventually counted twelve men – give or take - but no one with Gidel's bulk. That same bulk had yet to detach from the throng to join John.

Dread shot through John's spine and into his nerves like ice. When the four approached to join the twelve, all muttering conversation ended. The closer proximity afforded John a better view of each individual face. Most looked confused, several were nervous, and only a handful appeared indifferent.

Jorsek and the younger Leyn were among the indifferent. And none of the faces belonged to Gidel. Another surge of cold ripped through John, and his heart rate started to pick up. But now was an indescribably bad time to show trepidation. John scowled in Jorsek's general direction. Jorsek only cast him a few expressionless glances as he conversed with several of his men.

John was all ready to demand answers as to what was going on, but the blond man who had fetched him beat him to the punch.

" What's this about? Where's that city-man?"

Those men not of Jorsek's inner circle nodded in agreement to the question. Jorsek continued to converse, then clasped the younger Leyn on the shoulder. Leyn, the bearded man, and a stringy-haired red-head crouched to retrieve something from a satchel on the ground, then headed over to the blockage and scaled it enough to reach the top.

Jorsek scuffed the toe of his boot into the dirt, wiped his nose, and purposefully hesitated before speaking. " The official is taking too long."

" Yeah, but he just got here," someone said.

Jorsek placed his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one leg. " Exactly. He just _got_ here after how long ago we made the request? Look," and Jorsek held up a hand, " I know the council has asked that we cooperate with this man, and that's all fine and well, I'm just not getting his reluctance to go after this people-thief quick as a wink. I've talked to the man, threw him some ideas to catch this kidnapper that would have this nightmare over within a day. But he wouldn't hear me out, said I was being too hasty. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't wrap my head around this need to wait. If we go in now, we can have this over and done with before midday. And isn't that what we want? Results?"

One man, a rather squat looking fellow, rubbed the back of his neck nervously. " Yeah, but this city-man's supposed to be an expert. Not that I'm calling you a... uh... _not_ expert, Jorsek. It's just... I've heard some of the things he's had to say about catching this kidnapper, and it sounds reasonable to me. If we go in, the kidnapper'll just slip through one of those holes the tall man found."

Jorsek's eyes darted to John momentarily, and John caught the spark of disdain in that lightening quick glare.

" That's why," Jorsek said, " several of you are going to take positions up on top. Wait the fellow out and chase him down if he tries to run..."

 _While simultaneously trying not to shoot eachother on accident._ John twisted his mouth uncertainly. This sounded like a half-assed plan if ever there was one. Just about every man here was edgy enough to shoot a leaf if it so much as fell from a branch. Even broad daylight wasn't going to guarantee a clear visual of the kidnapper if he decided to go topside. Chances were also good that Jorsek's boys were going to end up wasting their bullets on eachother in the darkness of the ruins – darkness this kidnapper probably knew better than himself. This was the kidnapper's domain, his playground, and if he was a wraith...

Forget half-assed, this was down right suicidal.

Suicidal yet the only chance Jorsek had to save face. John had been right about him. He was nothing but a cowardly, selfish bastard. So selfish he was getting stupid in his desperation to maintain that self.

The shock of this made John momentarily forget his promise to try and remain out of Jorsek's bad graces. Too late anyways.

John stepped forward. " This is a really bad plan, Jorsek." He winced internally when Jorsek landed his gaze full on him. But Sheppard plowed on ahead, pointing a cold-stiffened finger at the rubble. " Going in there isn't going to solve anything except get yourself lost and possibly killed. You've seen how big this place is and I've seen it from the top. It's a freakin' maze, Jorsek. And it's _his_ maze, the kidnapper's; the possible _killer's_. He knows it, you don't. So you might has well put a gun to your head and pull the trigger now because he's probably going to get you before you even have a chance to see his face."

The men exchanged uneasy looks. Jorsek never took his eyes from John. John saw the smoldering flicker of Jorsek's rising anger. The auburn haired man turned to face John, lowering his arms to hang loosely at his sides. He approached John, slowly and stiffly. John tensed and moved his hand back behind him, closer to his gun hidden under his coat.

" Do you know of our plight, _off-worlder_?" Jorsek sneered. " Have you lost a loved one to this monster? Been on the hunt as we searched for the missing with nothing to show for it? Have you been here for the tears shed by wives, husbands, and children for those lost? Have you!"

 _Have you even given a damn about those same people you're talking about_?

John went for another word choice that wouldn't end with him getting decked in the face. " No, I haven't. But I've been through crap like this before. I've searched for missing people, consoled their loved ones when they couldn't be found, put my neck out on the line because of someone else's _stupid_ decision, and got my ass thrown in the brig after trying to right someone else's wrong. I know all about the _stupidity_ of hasty decisions and that people tend to die more when you rush rather than take the time to assess, and realize _that you're just going to make things worse...!_

" We're going to end this!" Jorsek snarled back. " Right here, right now, once and for all!"

" At what cost?"

" Whatever it takes! This is going to end, and we're the ones going to end it!" Enough said. Jorsek turned before John could roar out a retort, and signaled to the men on the rubble. They nodded, crouched, fiddled with something stuffed within the rocks, then scurried like rats from the pile.

John expected Jorsek to shout for everyone to take cover. He cringed in expectation of an explosion which would definitely send the kidnapper/killer on the move toward the exit. Instead, his bones tried to leap from his flesh at the fire-cracking pops of what he'd inappropriately assumed to be some type of dynamite.

His massive bad. There was no thunderous boom to wake the whole valley and then some. There followed a hiss after the popping, then the grating shift of rock over rock. Lesser rubble ran like a dusty waterfall between the cracks, then the larger rocks twitched and finally rolled either down the pile or into the structure.

" What the hell...?" John mumbled.

" Acid sticks," said the blond man with a little awe. " Less of a danger than explosives. It melts enough rock to shift the whole pile when placed just right. Quick too. And hard to make. Men have lost fingers producing the stuff. Makes the sticks hard to come by."

Sheppard didn't really want to know how Jorsek came by them. He had a couple of theories, with each less pleasant than the last.

When the hissing stopped and the avalanche stopped, the men returned to the top and shoved in more of the sticks. They fiddled, ran, the sticks popped, the chemicals hissed, and the avalanche resumed. A hole at the top eventually materialized, and when the avalanche ceased, the men plus four more went in and dug the hole even bigger using shovels and picks. By the time they finished, deep amber sunlight was scattered over the bony topmost branches of the tree. John kept glancing over his shoulder, hoping someone new would arrive, someone who had a hell of a lot more authority to put a stop to this.

Either Tarl was a late sleeper or no one had a clue as to what was going on. Jorsek may have been acting the idiot, but he probably wasn't dim-witted enough not to leave some sort of back story as to why most of the men weren't in town. That still left Maj once she realized Gidel hadn't been invited to the party. She would make Tarl aware. They were probably on their way here, right now.

Which was probably a bad idea. The hole was open. They would be going in soon, and John had no desire for more people to get lost in there, Maj and Gidel especially. They needed to be warned, the whole village needed to be warned. Except the moment John turned his back, Jorsek would do something. Shoot him, tackle him, probably tackle then shoot him, and that would make the whole warning thing rather pointless.

As of that moment, John had no idea what the hell he was going to do.

With the hole open to Jorsek's satisfaction, he turned, stalked up to John, and grabbed him by the arm to start pulling him to the pile. He shoved John forward, and though none of Jorsek's cronies had lifted their weapons, they appeared to be fondling them in a rather threatening manner.

" Since you seem such the expert in these matters," Jorsek said, and jerked his chin toward the hole, " you can go first."

John glared at him. " I was always taught ladies first, so why don't you lead the charge, Jorsek?"

Low ohs and eews rippled through the gathered. Jorsek gave John a wicked looking smile, then shoved him, hard, causing John to stumble into the rubble.

" That wasn't a request, Sheppard."

The rock and the hard place had become too damn literal. John glared at Jorsek for a moment longer, then began to scale the pile up to the top. He paused about center to look over his shoulder at Jorsek.

" No light?"

The blond that had fetched Sheppard dug into the pocket of his coat. " Here." He tossed a smaller version of the Iothian electric torch up to him, and John caught it in one hand.

" Thanks," he said, and continued on up.

John crouched before the hole and flipped on the light. The Beam illuminated spiraling clouds of dust and a dirty but smooth stone floor like slate-colored marble. John ducked his head and lifted the light to send the beam as far as it could cut through the darkness. The chamber beyond was large, probably around the size of Atlantis' gateroom, with cracked, octagon pillars and what looked to be a very large entrance into either another room or a very large corridor. The beam outlined the threshold, but was too small to go beyond it.

" Anyone home?" Jorsek asked. John glowered at Jorsek's attempt at humor.

" No one yet," he said. His voice sounded hollow echoing through the chamber.

" Then get in there," Jorsek said. One of his boys raised his weapon a little, just for show. John gave them a narrow-eyed look before picking his way over the rubble and half-sliding, half climbing down into the chamber. Shale and dust skittered under his feet and clattered piercingly like snapping fingers through the chamber. More rocks and dirt spilled behind him from whoever was following after.

Small stones and a thick accumulation of dust crunched under John's feet. _My kingdom for a whip and a hat. Snake pits and giant boulders, here I come._ John preferred the once high-tech Ancient temples that could be hot-wired and reprogrammed into obedience to these trip-wired and switch activated rat mazes. John had only met Dr. Daniel Jackson on enough occasions to know that this was his kind of thing. If McKay were here, he would have been sneezing and holding back the silence with his long-winded speeches concerning allergies and structural integrity.

Man John missed that. The crunch beneath his feet and the snap, crackle, pop of skittering debris and hesitant footfalls didn't break the silence, it made the silence laugh in his face, and push its presence tight around him. It was a dominant silence that for some reason made one reluctant to try and get rid of it. Logical enough since they were hunting a fugitive down. This silence, however, wasn't on their side, and John was pretty sure their quarry was tucked safely away, listening to the ridiculously loud breathing of his pursuers, and mentally taunting them to come and find him.

John had loved hide and seek once upon a time. Bad guys really did ruin everything, starting with childhood favorites.

John flinched when a body brushed past him with close enough contact to knock into his shoulder. Jorsek, followed by five of his inner-circle, approached the gaping maw of the doorway across from the front entrance. Their lights glided across the stone trestles of the door, carved up in pictorials and what John could have sworn was Ancient writing.

Ancient temple or temple dedicated to the Ancients? Had to be the latter. This place was more suited to sacrificing to heathen gods than performing funky experiments or providing the comforts of home to a wandering Ancient.

 _All hail Ancient Ceaser. Would you like a bath? It'll take a couple of hours to heat up the water and pour it in the tub._

Someone shoved John from behind, and a glance over the shoulder showed that someone to be the bearded man.

" Move," he growled, low, quiet, and marginally threatening. He seemed too preoccupied with being nervous to put much effort into being an SOB.

John did move forward, intentionally cooperative now, but ready to take the first chance he got to slip off into the darkness back the way they came. Everyone gathered before the massive doorway. The multitude of flashlight revealed a short hallway that split off left and right.

And there was a stench – a nice, thick, invisible cloud of decay that burned John's nostrils and made him gag on his own breath. The faces of the men around him twisted and scrunched with disgust.

John turned his head to look at Jorsek. " You may want to follow your nose on this one."

Jorsek's answer was to step over, grab John's arm, and shove him through the door. John just grinned, feeling drunk on adrenaline and singing nerves. He led the way with his tiny flashlight to the other end of the mini-corridor, stopped, and looked between his two directional choices. He took his own advance, and followed his nose, taking the left hand hallway where the stench puffed into his face the strongest on the back of air drafts. The hallway was long, and narrow, forcing the men to go single file. The hall opened up into another gateroom sized chamber with pillars and fallen wooden beams. Light spilled in slanted shafts from cracks and small holes in the ceiling too far up for anyone or anything to reach.

The floor of this chamber was littered with more than just wood and rocks. There were bones, animals bones by their snouted animal skulls.

" That explains the smell," John muttered. He kicked at a dried, mummified dog-like corpse that scraped across the floor. One of Jorsek's contingent crouched and picked up a mini-iaret husk. The parched skin crumbled to ashy flakes in his hands and flitted away.

All the present corpses were husks rather than picked-clean bone piles, and it was making John's heart rate pick up again.

 _Except wraith are partial only to the feel of human flesh against their feeding hand. Right?_ Perhaps humans were a delicacy – the steak – where as everything else was just gruel.

A smaller, rodent like husk disintegrated under John's foot. _No. Only the life force of humans can sustain them._ He didn't recall where he'd heard that, if it was a wraith that had told him or a human. Didn't matter, he no longer believed it. If Teyla didn't even know about the wraith's hidden talent of restoring what they took, then there was probably a cargo ship load of crap the wraith had no intentions of letting the rest of the galaxy in on. Such as their palates being able to handle life-forces that weren't human. Animals probably ranked as the MREs and power bars on the wraith dietary menu. Eaten out of necessity, not out of desire.

Another of Jorsek's men kicked at something round that clattered across the floor several feet before landing upright within a jagged shaft of light.

The man jolted back with a yelp.

The dust-stained round thing was a human skull.

John looked over at Jorsek, and smirked caustically.

" Think we're on the right track."

The men explored the room more tentatively. They kicked aside animal corpses, and eventually uncovered four more human corpses, picking through the clothes with the tips of their boots or end of the flashlights. One man's gagging made the rest jump.

" I think this was Anjeya Gyref. Didn't she always wear them violet skirts?"

" You'd think there'd be more bodies than this," said someone else, " with all the folks that've vanished."

John kept his penetrating gaze on Jorsek. " This is a big place. Plenty of room to hide a crap-load of corpses."

Jorsek didn't grace him with a glare or a response. He remained quiet for a moment, probably pensive though John couldn't tell in the pathetic light. Then Jorsek gestured limply toward the other end of the room. " Let's find out."

John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to hide his full-blown grin. This place was starting to get to Jorsek. John could see it in the stiff way he moved, and his constant hesitancy. They moved to the other end of the chamber where three doors awaited; two to get lost in and one leading to possible death.

 _Wouldn't that make a fun game show._ John knew he shouldn't even be smiling right now, and being unable to drop it was starting to freak him out. The deeper they went, the giddier he got. Adrenaline was surging through him like napalm through a gas line. Adrenaline born of self-preserving fear, and fight instincts gearing up for future events. John felt coiled as a cornered snake, and the further they went, the more he coiled. He was actually starting to long for something to strike at, or run from, or strike at then run.

John focused more on Jorsek and his revealing actions. Jorsek looked from door to door, brow furrowed and stance rigid. His tongue flicked nervously over his lips, and his nostrils flared trying to detect the strongest scent of decay.

" Let's split up," he said. " Into groups. Each take a door. And make sure to mark your path."

" Just for the record," John dared to say, " that's a really bad idea."

" No one asked you!" Jorsek snarled. He then pointed stiffly at Leyn the younger, the bearded man, and two more men of Jorsek's inner circle. " You, You, you and you go with Mr. Sheppard into the left door."

John's heart double-timed it and he swallowed thickly. This was bad to a level that no words could describe.

 _Empty city plus Jorsek's Lackeys plus probable killer equals DEAD without question. My gosh it sucks to be me._

The younger Leyn shoved John in the shoulder, propelling him reluctantly forward into the darkness of the left hand door. Dust, debris, and bones crunched, snapped, and popped under his feet. Jorsek's men followed, and their lights made John's shadow spasm on the dirty floor. John's spine was stiff enough to snap waiting for a bullet or a knife to come ripping into it, shattering the bone and severing the spinal cord. Or maybe it would ricochet and pulverize his heart. John's hand strayed a little closer to the nine mile pressing reassuringly against the small of his back.

The hallway wasn't narrow, or remotely small in any way, and still it pressed in. John actually longed for some sort of ancient trip wire or trigger that would set off some cataclysmic trap and create a good enough distraction that he could use. They walked, and walked, and walked with no traps and no bullet piercing John's back. So far so good. He took the small glimmers of hope where he could.

Then they came to a fork in the road – sort of. One going right, one continuing on straight ahead.

" Deyn, Jash," the younger Leyn said. " You take the right. We'll go on ahead."

The two men gave curt nods and took the right corridor while John and his escort went straight.

It was a grisly walk down eternity, passing more junctures going left or going right, and neither way taken. Sweat not soaked into John's two shirts tickled down the canal of his spine. He longed to itch, but knew better than to move. Then they entered a lesser chamber, about the size of the Atlantis infirmary. Something small, cold and round pressed into the back of John's neck, and he automatically raised his hands.

Once again, he couldn't fight the bitter smile curling his lips.

" 'Bout time this party got started," he said. His response was rewarded with the pressure of the rifle being taken off his neck, then followed by the butt end ramming into John's upper back. The force knocked him to his hands and knees. A secondary blow to the middle of his back drove him to his chest and the air from his lungs. He sucked in a breath of dust, choked, and coughed painfully.

" Quiet," Leyn growled. The barrel of the gun returned, nudging the back of John's skull. " You've no right to speak. You've only the right to scream before I get finished with you."

John moved his tongue to work up enough saliva that he swallowed to ease his parched throat. " Look Leyn," he croaked. " Your brother being a bastard aside, I'm sorry you lost him. But I didn't do anything to him..."

Leyn's foot slammed down onto Sheppard's back and pressed until the backbone felt close enough to scrape the sternum. John gritted his teeth and groaned.

" I don't want to hear it, off-worlder! Idek, get over here and pick him up so that I can... Idek?"

John scraped his cheek on the dusty floor turning his head in the direction where the bearded man was supposed to be.

More like had been. The chamber appeared to be missing one occupant and one flashlight.

" Idek where did you go?" Leyn called.

John didn't take the time to ponder this creepy moment. He lurched, bucking, knocking away Leyn's foot when the pressure was let up a fraction. When the foot was gone, John rolled onto his back and kicked out with one foot that struck something both soft and solid, and Leyn grunted, dropping both the flashlight and the rifle with a resounding clatter. John rolled to his feet, turned, and plowed past the staggering Leyn back the way they had come. Having lost his flashlight when Leyn had knocked him to the floor, John kept one hand on the wall. The other he slid around his back, under his coat, and pulled out his 9-mil.

The silence made for a nice ally this time around. He could hear Leyn's shouts closing the distance. The next John glanced over his shoulder, he saw the star-like wink of the flashlight.

Then John's hand met open air. He ducked into the corridor, moving deeper into the darkness then pressing himself as flat as possible against the wall. His heart lurched with each of Leyn's footfalls that became louder along with the shouting.

" You stupid off-worlder!" Leyn shrieked. " I'm going to gut you! You hear me! Skin you alive and tear out your innards with my bare hands...!"

Leyn ran right past John's hiding place, and the sound of his voice shifted in the Doppler effect to begin drifting away down the hall. John waited with held breath until the ranting garbled into distant, incoherent echoes. He waited another moment until those echoes were barely discernible, then slipped back out of the lesser corridor into the main one to continue on. The wall and memory were his guide, the silence his klaxon when it was broken.

And it was broken when he heard a scrape like a foot shifting position. John stopped and raised his gun. He was all ready to shout who was out there when a flashlight flared on, blinding him momentarily. In that moment of weakness, something buzzed through the air, and John barely had time to lift his arm and block the blow of the rifle butt aimed at his head. The contact got him in the upper arm and slammed him against the wall. It wasn't a stunning blow, and John managed to twist his arm and grab part of the rifle. He yanked, but the owner yanked back, ending up the stronger and ripping the rifle from John's grasp. John brought up his 9-mil with his other hand, and his attacker flipped the rifle around to the business end aiming at John's head.

" You should have just shot me, Leyn," John said, panting.

John couldn't see the man's face with the flashlight shining in his eyes, but could see enough of him to know where to aim to make any shot count.

" Where's the fun in that?" Leyn panted back. " I want satisfaction in your death and I can't have that if it's quick."

John snorted. " Gee, Leyn, I'm flattered. Didn't know you cared so much to risk your own ass just to kill lil' old me. Thinking to double back and meet me half way aside, this isn't exactly a smart move, Leyn. I'd be more concerned about the fact that your oh so loyal friend took off without making a sound than how best to kill me so that I scream dying. There's something in this place, Leyn, and I'm really starting to lean toward it not being human. So I think the smart thing to do would be to hold off killing me long enough to ensure that you don't come following after."

John heard the click of Leyn's rifle being cocked. " And give you the chance to escape?"

" Or use me as bait to draw this thing off while you make a run for it. And, yeah," John shrugged, " ditto for me. Who knows? Maybe you'll catch the last of my pain filled screams while you're hightailing it to safety. As for this moment in time, neither one of us is going to lower our weapon, so it's not exactly as though you have much choice in the matter. So either step aside and let's finish this later, or just shoot me where I stand."

Leyn's rifle raised a little higher, and John's heart pounded fit to explode. He tensed, and gradually increased the pressure on the trigger of his gun.

" Just for the record," John said. " I never hurt your brother. At least I can die with a clear conscience. How about you?"

Suddenly, the flashlight fell spinning on the ground, and the rifle followed, discharging on impact a centimeter from John's foot. John flinched and pressed himself deeper into the wall. The spinning light strobed off the walls and off something that John couldn't make heads or tails of. He crouched, snatched up the light, and stabbed the darkness with the beam. He saw Leyn's feet squirming and kicking. The rest of him was hidden beneath a blue-gray, violet, red, and black mound of flesh and muscle the size of a horse.

The details of the thing was sketchy, but John knew sure as hell that that thing was no wraith.

Leyn made no sound as he struggled. Then there was a crunch, a muffled scream, and Leyn's body went convulsively rigid. John saw the pale flash of Leyn's hand with fingers curled in agony, then fingers curling into claws when the flesh wrinkled, shrank, and dried up. Leyn's entire body went still and limp as a doll.

The thing lifted its head, like a dog's head, hairless, with a long snout and no ears, so more like a dog's skull. Two long, black, dagger sharp mandibles that made John's neck twinge with bad memories slid back into the creature's mouth, flecking blood that landed on John's face. The light flashed burning off the iridescent eyes that studied John with undeniable intelligence.

John's heart slammed to snatch his breath away.

" Oh son of a bitch," he breathed.

The creature lifted its heavy frame off of Leyn. It picked up the husk of the man with a long-fingered and long-clawed hand, and smashed it against the wall, effectively disintegrating it to dust, cloth, and bone fragments, all while leering – actually leering – at John. It took a step forward with fingers and needle claws spread flat on the floor.

John lurched back while at the same time firing two rounds right into the creature's eyes. The creature whipped its head back with a combination growl and high-pitched shriek. When it looked back at John, the wounds were already starting to heal as black blood dripped from the sockets.

The creature went from leering to annoyed. The ropey muscles of its legs bunched as it crouched back for the pounce. John's instincts screamed at him to run. Except he was well aware of the futility of turning his back on a creature that could probably leap twenty feet across any surface. John only had one other option that was probably just as bad as turning his back on the thing.

The creature tensed, and John tensed, slipping is 9-mil into his pocket to shift the flashlight to his other hand. Then the creature leaped, and John bolted forward, whipping out one of the bladed sticks and swiping at one of the creature's paws with a spin of his body as he passed. He heard the creature howl and land with an ungraceful thud, but wasn't foolish enough to look back and check out his handiwork. He ran with everything he had into the darkness, arms swinging, legs pumping, and flashlight strobing back and forth. He ran until the light revealed another turn up ahead, a right-hand turn, and he took it, never slowing, never glancing back, and actually increasing his speed when he heard the thing's hiss sounding right at his back.

TBC...


	20. Revelations

John's mind had resorted to something primitive, almost animal, that fogged his brain and narrowed his world to flight and only flight. It was a terror that made the halls too small and the way ahead eternal. He was going at a blind run, breath ripping to and from his lungs, and the bones of his legs jarring on each impact when foot met ground. His heart was like a car engine chugging out blood and burning adrenaline. He saw nothing but darkness and heard nothing but his own labored breathing and clapping footfalls.

He was officially the rat, and found a small indefinite amount of room in the haze of his mind to actually pity them.

John was too preoccupied by survival to give to any other concerns. So when his body clipped another body, knocking him off rhythm and causing him to whip around and slam his back into the wall, he was ready to pass it off as insignificant until a strong hand latched around his arm and yanked him back.

" Hold up there! Where's Leyn."

A beam of light stabbed into John's eyes and blinded him. He tried to pull back, rip his arm from the vice grip and maintain his survival momentum. Another hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt front, pulled him forward, then slammed him back into the wall. The breath whooshed out of John's lungs and he gasped, pain throbbing along a single rib. Hard knuckles dug into his breastbone and the cold barrel of a rifle pressed into his throat just under his jaw.

" Where's Leyn!" a man snarled.

John blinked several times. He saw vague outlines of two human shapes, but that was all. This was no time to indulge in putting faces to voice.

" Dead. Just like the three of us will be if we don't get out of here now!" To emphasize the point, John tried to jerk free, only to be jerked back and pressed harder into the wall.

" What're you talking about? What happened to Leyn! You killed him, didn't you!"

John curled his lip in an infuriated sneer. " No, you brainless jack-ass. His stupidity killed him. Just like your's is going to kill you in the next two minutes. Doom's coming down that hallway and choosing between you and it, I'll take my chances with you morons." John then kicked out striking the guy before him in the crotch. When the guy staggered back with a loud grunt, John knocked the gun from his throat by grabbing the barrel with one hand and striking out hitting the flesh and bone of a face with the other. He was about to toss the gun away when the first guy, quick to recover, slammed into John, pinning him against the wall.

Then came the howl – long, tuba-like, rising, rising, and rising until fading out, and so loud it rattled through John's ears to vibrate his bones. The struggles ceased, and in the dim light of the flashlights now rolling on the floor, John saw the two men staring wide-eyed back down the corridor.

" Told ya," John said. He shoved his attacker away and took off running. A clattering of footfalls quickly joined his own, and harsh breathing obscured the silence. He needed that silence.

Or thought he did.

Another kind of breathing – powerfully rhythmic as a bellows and loud as a hurricane force gale – drowned out the measly combination of human breaths. It pressed down on John's ears and filled the corridor. Had John not already known where the creature was coming from, he would have thought it everywhere.

" Haul ass!" John screamed, and ran even faster than what he thought should have been humanly possible.

The breathing closed in. A scream resounded and the bellows breathing momentarily quited. John caught the whimpering cry of the guy following him, heard some name shouted garbled by panic, but sure as hell wasn't going to look back. Good thing too when the hallways suddenly ended at a left and right juncture. John hit the wall with his hands out, pushed off it, and took off to the left, going by the general direction of where the front entrance was supposed to be – or at least he hoped. His attacker followed, whimpering between heavy breaths.

Their breathing was overcome by the bellows breaths of the creature. Faster, closer, and gradually rising in amplitude. It stopped for a heartbeat, then something thumped heavily onto the floor, and John's follower screamed.

John glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. He looked ahead, pushed his aching legs, muscles straining to the painfully burning point...

Then he hit a wall. Slammed right into it, knocking the breath from his lungs and his body back-first to the floor. Panic didn't give him a chance to wallow in a dazed stupor. He ignored the flashes of light in his vision and scrabbled with trembling hands for the flashlight still hooked to his wrist by a bit of leather. He passed the light all over his surroundings and found himself to be in some sort of a small chamber littered with rocky rubble. There was a doorway on his left, and that was it, until he passed the light along the floor. The light skimmed off of an odd section of wall to his right. He whipped the light back, and practically choked on his relief.

Near the corner was a hole in the wall, just big enough for his lean body to slip through. John rolled onto his chest, pushed himself to his feet, and charged toward the hole. The bellows breathing came up fast and hard, filling the chamber until it seemed to shake. Sheppard dove for the hole, sliding a few inches on his stomach until he had to pull the rest of himself through. Something dagger sharp snagged his calf, pulling down to slice from mid-calf to ankle. John screamed and rolled onto his back to kick at the taloned paw clawing at his leg. When the paw reared back, Sheppard scrambled back until his spine hit the wall. He scuttled sideways, and pressed himself into a corner, unsure of why he needed the enclosure of two walls, but needing it all the same. He grabbed the flashlight and cast the beam on the blue, black, and red-skinned talon digging furrows into the stone as though it were clay.

The creature's breathing was fast, agitated, and getting more agitated the more it tried to increase the expanse of the hole. Then it howled, long, rising, then tapering off. Something heavy slammed into the wall causing it to shudder and dust to rain. John flinched and shrank deeper into his little niche, trembling so hard the light of the torch was all over the place. His breaths came in short, gulping pants that barely kept up with his too fast heart. With every impact, he jumped, along with his heart, and his breath caught. He felt small, lost, and utterly alone, like a child trying to hide from the monster under his bed. Too bad the monster had to be real this time around.

Then, almost too sudden to be true, the creature's endeavors ceased. No more loud breathing, no more impacts, and no more trying to rip its way through to John. The silence that fell around John would have made himself consider the possibility that he'd gone deaf. Except he could still hear himself breathing; short, erratic, shuddering, and no matter how hard he tried to keep it otherwise, too loud.

John pulled his 9-mil from his coat and held it in both hands against his chest. Now was the time to move, to find his way out of this rat maze before the creature found him.

The only problem was, he couldn't move. He knew what he needed to do, but his body was refusing to do it. After all, moving meant going back out _there,_ the creature's habitat, it's hunting ground that it knew every inch of. Chance would favor the creature – ten percent he got out of here alive, ninety percent that the creature found him first.

 _Hey, ten percent is still pretty good. Better than one percent._ John wanted to laugh but had the feeling it would come out sounding like a sob. It was time to face the cold, hard truth – he was scared, terrified, petrified, and brain-numb with panic. Again he wanted to laugh. Of all the times to give into fear and let it reduce him to a stubborn ass more content with staying put than trying to survive, he couldn't quite grasp why now.

Actually, the more he thought about it, the clearer it became. He was undeniably, irrevocably, indescribably screwed. Wasn't that it? That creature had taken down Leyn and Leyn's buddy without making so much as a scrape of sound. And this was it's playground. Chances were good it knew exactly where John was, and was making its way through the myriad of corridors, taking the most direct path to him.

 _Come on, Sheppard. You've been through worse than this._ Hive ships, hive queens, and, hell, fed upon a couple of times. All that had to accumulate to some sort of higher experience level.

John closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and took several deep calming breaths until adult, military John was back in charge.

" All right," he breathed. " Come on, John, think."

This creature wasn't wraith but it certainly had the more annoying wraith attributes – feeding and healing.

 _And evolved wraith of some kind? A mutant wraith_? Origin really didn't matter, Sheppard was simply trying to ground his own mind. This thing moved fast, ate fast, and healed fast but that didn't mean it didn't have a weakness of some kind.

 _Yeah, maybe it's ticklish._

John sighed dejectedly. Thus far his only hope seemed to be to stay on alert and hope he didn't run into the thing any time soon – or run into Jorsek. Unless Jorsek was already dead.

John might have been clear headed, but he was still trembling, and freezing from the drying sweat that had soaked every inch of his clothes. He swallowed against a rough, dry throat, and took another couple of deep breaths. The breathing ended in coughing when the cold, dry air irritated his burningly raw lungs. He hadn't noticed before – blind in his panic as he had been – but there was a thin shaft of light spilling in from a hole in the ceiling across the room.

 _If only_ , John lamented. He tilted his head back, and gave himself a moment to rest. His shakes eased, becoming less from fear, and more from muscle fatigue. He was exhausted beyond tolerance, and was actually thankful for the fear that was keeping him awake.

The silence was shatter by a small, muffled crunch. John tensed and held his breath as he listened. The silence betrayed to him another, almost inaudible crunch, and some kind of a creak... like leather.

John pressed his back and one hand against the wall. Slowly, he rose up on trembling legs until upright, and locked his knees. He clicked off his flashlight, and allowed his eyes to adjust the rest of the way to the darkness. He turned his gaze toward the entrance of the room on his left. A shape emerged, tall, dark, and lean. John went rock rigid and still in his corner with the gun against his chest and his other hand wrapped around the handle of a bladed stick. The figure entered the room without a sound, barely breathing. John saw the movement of what had to be the head twitching around. It stopped twitching when it faced John, and slowly began to approach.

John snapped the gun before the figure's face and stepped forward.

" Don't move!" he barked. The figure reacted with a hiss, and struck fast knocking the gun away with a sweep of its arm. The gun clattered onto the floor. John didn't hesitate when he whipped out the stick to slash the blade through the hand reaching for him. The figure snarled inhumanly and stumbled back clutching the limb to its body. It was a momentary reaction when the figure resumed its approach toward Sheppard. Sheppard stepped back, whipped out the second blade, and crossed the two blades over each other directly in front of the figure's throat – or where John guessed the throat to be.

" Don't move!" John hissed. The figure stopped centimeters from the blades. " So much as twitch, then I twitch and open a jugular. Now step back."

The figure did so, and John followed. " More."

Another step, then another as John kept commanding until the figure stepped into the small pillar of light.

John narrowed his eyes darkly. " Thought as much... Though the hell hound kind of threw me for a loop."

The wraith responded by glowering and baring its small, serrated teeth. It was one of those commander wraith, dressed in a ragged dark long coat with white hair matted into dreadlocks. The thing looked more gaunt than the average slender wraith commander, dirty, and a little wild in the eyes. Its hand was being slow to heal, and dribbled out black blood.

John removed one of the sticks, twirling it then sliding it into his belt, so he could pick up his flashlight and click. " Don't move," he said. " I'm faster than I look and these are sharper than they look." He took a couple of steps back and did a quick back and forth between the wraith and the floor until he located his gun. He slide the other stick into his belt, crouched, and grabbed the weapon to point at the wraith.

The wraith remained standing beneath the light, cradling his injured limb – its feeding limb. John had to smile at that. He approached the wraith but not within striking distance for the thing to swipe at him again. The wraith stared at him with a little hatred and a lot of unnerving hunger. It would have been intimidating if the wraith's feeding hand wasn't lying lifeless on the floor.

A long, silver string of saliva stretched from the wraith's mouth. " So this his how it ends," it rasped in disgust. " By the hands of _food_."

John snorted. " Don't flatter yourself. It's not over yet. The fact that you're still alive in this hell hole has just bought you a little more time. I need out and something tells me you don't want to be hanging around here either."

The wraith's eyes squinted, regarding John more closely, looking him up and down. John had always suspected the wraith harbored stellar night vision. " you are... different."

" Yeah? What gave it away? The gun, the clothes, or the fact that I know what you are?"

" You smell different."

John cocked a bewildered eyebrow, unsure whether to be offended or just confused.

" Huh?"

" Every world gives those who inhabit it a unique scent. Your scent is not unique to this world. It is a scent I have never smelled before. And... Yes, you know of my kind. These humans are naïve to me. Their fear consumes then, making them easier prey. Your fear is... controlled, subdued. It is there, but it is not strong. You attack with the skills of a warrior."

John furrowed his brow and looked at the wraith askance. " Are you trying to suck up to me or something?"

The wraith grinned. " Do not flatter yourself, human. I would have drained you of your life without a second thought. It has merely been some time since I have encountered food that fights back."

John's eyes flickered nervously to and from the door to this chamber. " Yeah, whatever. As nice as it is to face an enemy I actually know about, I'd rather focus on getting out of here, which brings me back to the reason why I haven't killed you yet. You're going to show me the back door to this place."

The wraith chuckled, deep and throaty. " Do you honestly expect me to cooperate so that you can kill me as soon as you are free?"

" I expect you to cooperate because I have this funny feeling you don't want to be here just as much as me. Hell, I'll even give you a fighting chance once we're outside, but only once we're outside."

The wraith kept smiling, or perhaps was just baring its teeth, John could never tell. It tilted its head to one side, and chuckled.

" I will lead you out, so that I may consume you and take your weapons. My presence here is not an accident, human. There is a purpose to it."

John nodded then gestured using the gun toward the door. " Fine, whatever. Talk along the way so we can get this over with. And use this." He tossed the flashlight to the wraith, who caught it, then tossed it back.

" You will need it more than me, human." Without another word, the wraith moved to the door. It also had a point. John would need the light to keep watch over the wraith. He followed behind keeping enough space between him and the alien vampire in case it got the urge to whip around and knock John senseless.

" How long do we have until that _thing_ finds us?" he asked.

" This section of the structure is difficult to reach. We are safe... until we reach your 'back door'. The creature knows to wait there. It may know to wait there now."

John shuddered. His back was feeling uncomfortably exposed, and it was making him cold. " You wouldn't happen to know what that _thing_ is, do you? Distant cousin, experiment gone wrong...?"

" The latter would be a more proper description."

John chuckled bitterly. " Thought as much. You guys make Frankenstein look sensible. What is it? What were you trying to achieve this time around before it turned against you?"

The wraith hissed. " A creature to help us during the culls."

John's stomach twisted itself. " You mean... Like a hunting dog? Or sheep herder? Let 'em lose and they round up your humans into an easy to cull herd."

" Precisely. Many humans on many worlds have found ways to elude us. Underground worlds, technology... the beasts were meant to seek these hiding humans out, and bring them to us. They were once wild creatures, with little intelligence, and ravenous. If food was not available, then they would turn on each other. They made our world dangerous, and we were forced to hunt them down in order to wipe them out. But they showed themselves to be the more dangerous hunters. Many wraith were lost during these exterminations. We sought to utilize these creatures' hunting skills for our own use. We captured many, studied them... changed them. Their intelligence was increased through manipulation of their core structure, making them intelligent enough to train."

John glanced over his shoulder nervously. It seemed that humans weren't the only ones having had their DNA cross-cultured with the iratus bug. That was the only explanation John could think of that would explain the hell hound. " Let me guess... something went wrong."

" When we felt the beasts ready, we brought them to this world to begin rounding up the humans. Instead, they attacked the humans and devoured them for themselves. Hundreds upon hundreds of my kind were sent to stop them, but the beasts had become more formidable. Not only did they turn against us on the planet. Those still remaining on the hive turned as well, escaping from their holds and hunting my kind, killing the queen and hundreds of drones. Another hive was forced to destroy the ship. Those of us left on this world were to remain on this world until every last one of the beasts were destroyed."

It hit John then like a slap, and he nearly laughed out loud.

" Holy crap! You mean the reason your people leave this planet alone is because you released a bunch of genetically mutated _wolves_ you had no control over? You played god, got 'literally' bit in the ass for it, and lost prime feeding ground. You know, I would have thought you learned your lesson when one of your kin thought that smacking Wraith DNA and human DNA was a good idea."

The wraith – who John decided to call Fred – shot him a toothy sneer. John returned it with a patronizing smirk.

" So tell me," John said. " What's the score? Who's winning? And how many more of your kinfolk are out there?"

John saw the wraith's shoulders tense in a creak of leather – or whatever Fred's coat was made of. " I am... The last."

John started at that. " Out of how many?"

" Too many to count. Hundreds going toward thousands."

" How many of these creature's?"

" Twenty."

John's heart took a nose dive into his stomach. " Son of a bitch," he breathed.

" If that is a statement of surprise, then it is most appropriate. We had increased the creatures' intelligence only to enable it to submit to instruction. But, as you had said, something had gone wrong. Their intelligence continued to increase, making them more formidable. We have hunted each other for too many years to count. I have not left this world since the hunt began. Over that time, fewer and fewer of my brethren could be felt. Now, I can feel no one, neither close nor in the distance. I am the last, and can only hope this beast to be the last. Should I be successful in destroying it, then I am to contact my people, and this world will be free for culling once again."

John sucked in a breath through his teeth. " Oh, bad thing to say, Fred. You know, as a human, I can't really let you do that."

" I am aware," the wraith said, nonplussed. " As I cannot let you stop me."

" Glad to see we're on the same page then. We duke it out once we're outside. Victor gets the spoils and all that crap."

The wraith chuckled and it made John's nerves tingle uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and shoved the discomfort back. " So you and this monster mutt have been at each other for a while. I'm surprised you two haven't wiped out the entire village by now."

" The creature cannot leave. It is trapped here. I, on the other hand, know of ways to escape that the creature cannot use."

" So you're the reason people have been up and vanishing. What does that leave the creature to eat?"

" Whatever happens to wander in. The creature can eat anything."

John finally allowed himself a short, bitter, breathy chuckle. " Yeah? Well why can't your kind? I think we'd get along quite nicely if you'd just expand your horizons beyond sucking the life out of my kind's flesh..."

SGA

Maj shifted her weight from foot to foot with the nerve-buzzing anxiety of wanting to be in motion – in motion heading toward the ruins where John _wasn't_ supposed to be. March up there, pull John out, then throttle Jorsek with everything she had and pass him off to Gidel for a good pulverizing. No question about it, she was going to kill that brainless, self-important, meat-headed excuse of a human being. Kill him and chop him to bits for his stupidity.

Maj looked up at the Gathering Stage platform but Tarl still hadn't arrived, and she wasn't the only one who was restless. People around her were starting to murmur, and there was a constant motion of heads turning in the direction of the ruins.

A large hand placed itself lightly on Maj's shoulder. She looked up at her nephew. Gidel was calm as a lake on a windless day, but there was a thin film of displeasure over his eyes. Emotions didn't betray themselves easily in Gidel because they didn't control Gidel. Maj envied that about her nephew. Self control was as natural for him as breathing, and she could use some of that control right about now.

Jorsek had lied in a bad way, and even now might be doing things to John worse than what he'd done to him in the barn. Jorsek was definitely breathing his last when Maj found him. She'd been all set to head to the ruins with Gidel and his friend Harek in tow, when the bell rang. Now she was being forced to wait, and wait, and wait. Perhaps Jorsek wasn't the only one who was going to get his comeuppance.

" If Jorsek was true to his intent on finding this kidnapper," Gidel said, " then he won't lay a finger on John until the deed is done. Jorsek and his men weren't the only ones to go up. They won't be doing anything to John in the presence of other citizens."

This wasn't the first time Gidel had said those words. The problem was, his assurances were short lived. The longer they waited, the stronger Maj's agitation became, making the words less of an assurance and more hollow.

The ruins were a maze, with plenty of places to torment John where others would be none the wiser.

Maj's ability to remain calm was being stretched to its limit. She was quite ready to bolt from the crowd and head to the ruins when Tarl finally ascended the stairs, deliberately, as though he were blasted royalty. Yet instead of the noise growing hushed, it increased.

" What's going on!" someone shouted.

" We saw men heading to the ruins," said another.

" Why aren't you with them?"

" Is this part of some plan?"

" Why weren't we informed?"

Tarl held up both hands for silence, and like a wave crashing onto the beach then rolling back into the sea, the noise level of the gather descended to almost near silence.

Almost. A few continued to murmur.

" Good people of 443," Tarl said, his voice clear and sharp. " As some of you have already come to know, early this morning a large contingent of men were witnessed making their way to the ruins. I can tell you now, this trek was not executed under my authority, and I was not aware that anyone had gone to the ruins until after dawn. No one was meant to go up there. But because some have, they may have very well jeopardized our attempts at catching this kidnapper. I know many of you are anxious to go and retrieve your love ones to ensure that they are safe, but I beg you not to. The situation has gone beyond our control and it will take much to remedy it. For now, I ask you all to return to your homes and wait there for you loved ones to return. To go up there now will only make the situation worse in a way that could put many of our lives in danger. So please, for the sake of everyone here, return home and wait. We will inform you later on when there has been a change. Anyone caught going against my request will be arrested. That is all."

At the end of Tarl's little speech, the crashing wave of noise resumed, almost deafening, and Maj joined in, shouting and demanding for something to be done to bring their people back. Tarl ignored it all and walked primly from the stage. With a huff, Maj stomped her foot and stormed away. Gidel had to run to catch up with her.

" Brain-less, good for nothing city official," Maj muttered. " What blasted good is he if all he wants us to do is wait the matter out. That kidnapper could be picking off our people one at a time even as we speak. Oh, yes, Tarl's such a concerned official looking out for our well-being." Maj snorted. " Bet he doesn't have a clue as to what he's doing. Probably had in all planned out, real simple, until Jorsek botched it all. Now he's at a loss..."

" I don't know, Aunt Maj," Gidel said. " Personally, Tarl didn't look all that concerned. He looked nervous."

Maj looked up at Gidel suspiciously. " How could you tell?"

Gidel shrugged. " He kept swallowing a lot. Easy enough to notice if... uh... you're paying attention."

In other words, if you're not distracted by being all riled up and brain-fogged with fury. Maj's face smoothed out of its scowl to form a different scrunch, one of consternation. " What would Tarl have to be afraid of, besides Jorsek succeeding and making him look bad?"

Gidel shrugged again. " Don't know. All I know is he struck me as looking a little nervous."

Maj smiled slightly and patted Gidel's shoulder. " You're getting better at reading people, love."

" Well, you did say it was a family trait. The thing is, it kind of bothered me seeing that official getting kind of nervous. I had a talk with John the other day while we were up at the ruins, about wraith. He wasn't really certain about it, but he thought there might be the possibility of one being on our world. And if that official knows something..."

Maj rolled her eyes. " Is this another of your little government conspiracy ideologies, Gidel? How on Ioth would he know what's been taking our people?"

" I've been off those ideologies for three years, Aunt Maj. And I'm not saying that John was right about there being wraith and that this official knows something. I'm just saying he seems to know something."

Maj swallowed and shook her head. " You better be wrong about that, Gidel. But I will say this much. If John isn't back in the next few hours, I'm going after him. I will not let that boy die right under my nose, especially by Jorsek's or any other's hand."

Gidel did not respond, just nod in solemn agreement.

Maj glanced down at her side, and arched an eyebrow. " Huh. I wonder where Ris has gotten off to?"

TBC...


	21. Flight for Survival

John was thoroughly amazed that the wraith hadn't experimented themselves into oblivion. But he wasn't going to complain. If the wraith had no qualms in screwing themselves over for the sake bettering the hunt and the food supply, then more power to them.

They'd gone silent a little while after the wraith's revelation concerning the beast, and it wasn't because they had nothing more to say.

" How much further?" John asked.

" Not far," replied the wraith. " We may even make before the creature does."

" Uh-huh. Okay, so just how smart is this thing, really? I already know pretty damn smart if a handful of them wiped out a truck load of your kind." Although it really wasn't saying all _that_ much. Wraith weren't stupid. They knew how to be clever, how to overcome their need to satiate hunger in order to do what needed to be done. And – something John was still reeling over – they even had a sense of honor. Or perhaps some of them did. Their only self-destructing set back was their hunger, and relying more on their numbers rather than battle strategies when it came to ground warfare. They'd attempted to smash Atlantis through a kamikaze run, and ended up cutting their population a little.

" They have shown a level of intelligence that could very well be classified as sentient. Their hunger, however, is more painful than ours. They do not restrain themselves when food is available. However, the first sign of their growing intelligence was their restraint in turning on each other, and instead working together... to hunt us."

John's chest jerked in a quiet laugh. " Sucks to be on that end of the food chain, doesn't it?"

A long off, drawn-out howl moaned through the corridors. Both John and the wraith froze with heads lifted and ears perked.

The wraith hissed and John could have sworn he saw it cringe. " I would not be so sure of myself, human. You are just as much the prey as I. Twice over should we both manage to escape."

John swallowed tightly, then shrugged. " Yeah, well, I'm used to it. Keep moving."

They started up again, a little faster than before. There came no follow up howl, which made John even more tense than he already was. He would have liked to hope that the creature, perhaps, had gotten lost.

 _Yeah, big fat freakin' chance of that happening._ If John's heart beat any harder, it was going to puncture itself on the rib it would eventually break.

They turned a corner, and John sucked in a breath of sudden relief. Several feet ahead the corridor ended to open up into a massive chamber of fallen beams and rubble piles. It was dimly lit from shafts of light pouring down from the innumerable cracks and holes in the ceiling. The lord of all the holes was situated almost perfectly in the center of the chamber but just off-center a little toward the right hand wall. John's mind worked quick tracing a path to the hole – up a pile of rubble to a small ledge where a beam rested, up that beam to another beam, then out through the hole.

And no hell hound.

Until the howl sounded close enough to rattle John's bones.

The wraith peered ominously over its shoulder. " We have been found."

John didn't risk a glance of his own. " No crap." He then shoved the wraith forward. " Move if you want to live to finish this outside."

" Actually," the wraith rasped. " I do not honestly care whether or not I finish anything with you."

The wraith, with an abruptness that John never saw coming, whipped around knocking John's gun away with its gradually healing feeding hand and grabbing John by the throat to slam him against the wall with his other hand. He released John who slid down the wall and crumpled into a boneless heap. Stars pulsed in John's eyes, and the world swam in his vision. He distinguished enough to see the wraith race to the rubble pile against the wall and scale it with inhuman grace to the beams then out the hole.

" Double crossing bastard!" John shouted. He knew he should have known better, but seemed to be getting soft in matters of trust. Just because one wraith expressed a little honor and gratitude didn't mean the whole lot had the capability. Plus this was a matter of survival, and if it wasn't the strong who survived then it was the cunning back-stabbers.

What really pissed John off was that the wraith had thought of it before he did.

John rolled painfully onto his hands and knees with a grunt, and froze. A gust of hot, putrid air brushed across his face and along his neck.

" Crap!" John scrambled to his feet and backed away as he pulled the bladed sticks from his belt. Instincts screamed at him to run, but something deeper told him to hold off on instinct's demands for a moment. Logical enough. The moment he turned to run, that thing would be on him. He recalled seeing some animal special where some so-called animal expert had said something about never making eye-contact with a dangerous predators. John had thought it to be a load of crap. He'd buy into the whole playing dead thing to trick some of the more unintelligent lifeforms, but he sure as hell wasn't about to take his eyes off any creature gung-ho on wanting to eat him.

The eyes were the first body-part of the creature John saw shining to be almost glowing iridescently from the dusky light of the chamber. It made no sound as it moved with feline methodical grace into the chamber, which struck John as unnervingly odd when only moments ago this thing was howling and breathing to make the eardrums vibrate to the exploding point.

John stepped back as the thing moved forward. It took a step, and he took a step. He tried not to breathe loud, but each unsteady inhale and exhale was like a roar to his suddenly sensitive ears. Sweat dripped from his face flashing in the thin needle of light he stepped back through. He dreaded every motion of his own body, from the movement of his chest trying not to heave, to the smallest drop of sweat rolling down his neck. The twitch of his finger, the blink of an eye, even a hitch in his breathing could trigger this beast to pounce. John could have sworn the creature was smiling, and sworn that it was enjoying every second of John's torment.

If this thing was as smart as the wraith had said, then it probably really _was_ enjoying this. The ball was in its court and it was going to bask in every moment of its apparent triumph.

Ah, good old pride. Apparently it wasn't just a human trait. The problem with the bad guy stalling was that it gave the good guy time to think. John came up with an idea. The setback was, it would be close, so close it would probably end up killing him. Yet at this point he preferred sooner than later.

John tightened his grip on the sticks. He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths that would probably be his last, and forced himself to come to terms with it. Then he twisted his upper body as though turning. The creature huffed out a bellowing whuff of breath and leaped forward in the same instant. John turned back and dashed forward ducking beneath the creature as it flew past overhead. John heard it land behind him with a heavy thud, so turned around again stumbling backward toward the corridor.

The creature turned as well, and it wasn't smiling anymore. The fang-like mandibles were out and spread twitching as though upset that they hadn't pierced anything. Saliva stretched from the sharp tips like opaque slime. The thing was back to breathing loud enough to bring the whole place down. That answered John's pointless question. The loud breaths were heavy panting. And yet even within that deafening breathing, John's own breathing seemed to match it. He'd survived part one of his plan. Now on to part two that he was even more certain would end up killing him.

John twirled one of the sticks, and spread his legs in the standard readying stance Teyla had taught him. If he survived this and got home, John was requesting the biggest bag of red licorice available from Earth. Teyla had taken an immediate liking to red licorice.

" Here little wraith dog," John muttered. The hell hound closed in on him with the same nerve shattering slowness. John inched back, letting the beast close the distance. When that distance was closed to John's liking (only eight feet away) John charged, and the creature copied. They ran at eachother with the chamber ringing from the beast's roaring exhales. It gaped its mouth wide and spread its mandibles, then lowered its head. John increased his speed, and two feet from the things gaping jaws he spun and swung both blades to hack off one mandible and one leg at the joint. The thing stumbled and fell sliding to its chest, yet had the mental capacity enough to kick out with its hind leg into John's back and knock him to the floor.

John didn't even give himself time to catch his breath. He rolled onto his back in time to see the creature's gaping mouth and spread mandibles coming at him. He swiped with both sticks and the thing reared it's head back. John scrambled backwards then scrabbled to his feet holding the blades in front of him. The creature hobbled toward him, then stalked toward him when the last of its paw healed back into existence.

John gulped. Not even the wraith healed that damn fast. Then again, this thing had just recently fed.

John wasn't going to wait around for this thing to strike. To get out, he needed to cripple it enough for the healing to take its sweet time. Again John charged and lashed out with the blades, slicing off both mandibles when the creature tried to take a bit out of him. John continued on beneath the thing to slice off one foreleg, then sliced open the belly, and finished by taking out both hind legs at the knee and the other at the ankle.

The creature dropped writhing and thrashing on the floor, snarling, roaring, and howling - and already the missing appendages were starting to grow back. John didn't wait around giving into sick fascination. He charged past the thing at a man dash toward the rubble piled on the side of the wall, jamming the blades into his belt. He scrambled up it, feet sliding out from under him with each rock he dislodged, making him hate that wraith even more out of mere jealousy. When he was close enough to the fallen beam, he leaped onto it and crawled up on all fours like a monkey.

John had never been more thankful for his head for heights as he did right then. It was a long ways down to the floor, and the next leap to the beam was a practical leap of faith, with no room for hesitation. A glance down showed him the hell hound rolling onto two of its newly healed foreleg and a back leg, with the other creeping toward joining it. The creature was already hobbling toward the rubble. John looked away back at the beam across from him, gaged the distance, then tensed back onto his haunches and pushed off of the beam. His moment of flight couldn't have been more than a second, and yet felt exhilaratingly like forever. His chest hit the beam shoving the breath from him, and his arms wrapped around it. He hauled himself up clawing at the rotten wood until he was able to swing his leg over. He then pushed himself to his hands and knees, and even more slowly to his feet. The beam he just leaped from shuddered out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see the fully regenerated hell hound clamoring up it with more dexterity than even the wraith.

" Damnit!" John snarled. He couldn't afford to run, but managed a fast walk by bending slightly. He reached the next inclined beam, the one that would take him to the hole, just as the beam he was on shuddered and nearly bucked him off when the creature landed on it. He wrapped his arm around the inclining beam and peered back long enough to see the creature slightly distracted in finding its footing. John swung onto the beam and again scurried monkey like upward. Clean, cold air hit his face, and sunlight simultaneously warmed it.

The beam shuddered. John didn't waste time looking back. He jumped up, threw his arms over the serrated rim of the hole, and squirmed, writhed, and struggled his way over. He rolled away from the opening just as a claw shot out and gouged the spot where John had been laying seconds ago. John backed and kept backing away until his lower back met the shallow rim around the roof. The creature roared and clawed like a trapped animal willing to beat itself to death against its confinement rather than remain trapped.

Then it stopped, leaving behind only a fading echo of its fury, and a small cloud of dissipating dust where it had been clawing. The silence would have been absolute if it hadn't been for John's harsh, fast breathing and the roaring rush of blood in his ears.

John couldn't move. His muscles refused to respond to his brain's commands, which was no surprise. His brain was shouting too many commands to be followed anyways, so his muscles settled for the easiest route that was trembling

 _I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive I'm freakin alive..._ Not that this was the first situation in which John was shocked to be alive, or the second, or third. Probably not even the tenth. But it was one of those ' a higher-up really likes me after all' moment, the kind that was so freakin' screwed up that the shock took a lot longer to wear off, and made John realize that though he wasn't particularly religious, neither was he any kind of an atheist.

John tilted his head back and let the combination chilled winds and afternoon sun embrace his face and throat. He took in deep lung-fulls of the clean open air, and basked in the decline of his heart rate out of its fifty-yard dash. There were some who thought near-death to be a major rush, the bringer of massive highs. But it wasn't the near death, it was the exhilaration of being alive. Near-death just made one appreciate it better.

When the shivering in his limbs subsided, John's body finally relented to his brain's commands, and he pushed himself stiffly and painfully to his feet with a groan. Stiffness continued to prevail as he limped like an old man across the roof to the next roof, then the next in search of one affording a short drop to the ground. He found just such a spot – or as best as he could locate – eight roofs away. It wasn't a bad distance to the ground, but the way Sheppard was feeling with one leg injured, he hesitated to determine how best to proceed. The Ronon or McKay way?

He went the McKay way by turning and going in feet first, getting to all fours and slipping his legs over the edge. He lay on his stomach and slid inchingly over the rim until he was hanging on by his hands, then dropped. His legs immediately gave landing him flat on his butt with a grunt, and thankful no one had been around to see it. McKay especially.

John remained sitting for a moment to catch his breath. Breath caught, he studied the leg where the wraith-dog had snagged him. The pant leg was ripped just above his boot, and soaked with blood. John parted the rip to see the ankle to knee laceration that resumed oozing rivulets of blood.

" Crap," John hissed. He removed his coat, then his over shirt, and ripped a strip from the bottom of the over shirt to wrap around the wound. He placed the shirt back on, his coat, then forced himself back to his feet despite the stinging in his leg. He pulled the bladed sticks back out of his belt and held them at the ready before proceeding off around the ruins.

That wraith was still out there. Maybe nearby, maybe looking for a quick snack to help the healing along. Which meant that another villager was going to disappear. He needed to get back to the village, back to Maj, and warn them. Not just about the wraith but the thing in the ruins as well. Just because it couldn't get out didn't mean it wouldn't be a problem in the future. They also needed to keep the wraith from managing to kill it first and send its 'all clear' signal to its buddies, and turn this planet into a feeding trough.

John limped as quickly as his leg would let him around the structure. It was the afternoon by the position of the sun. Time wise, this planet was similar to earth, and with it being winter, the days were shorter. He didn't have much time before darkness came, giving the wraith the advantage.

John came around another corner, and stumbled to a halt.

He was back at the front of the ruins, with its now completely unsealed entrance. He hadn't thought about that. Well, he had, he'd just momentarily forgotten being all caught up in trying not to die.

The opening in the rubble was big enough and then some for that horse-sized hell hound to get through without a hitch. John dropped his arms and slumped his shoulders in tired frustration.

" Son of a bitch!" he both snarled and whined. He gave that hell hound until after night fall – and after finishing off Jorsek and his posse – to find this opening and make a break for it. Possibly sooner.

John turned, only to turn back at the sound of rubble skittering down the pile. He whipped back around with blades raised, and relaxed only slightly when a human emerged from the entrance.

He tensed back up when he recognized that human.

Jorsek stood on the top of the pile squinting against the glare of the afternoon. He glanced around until his gaze settled firmly on Sheppard. That gaze went from a squint to flinty glare.

" What are you doing hear?" Jorsek bark. Others began emerging from the entrance, and several of Jorsek's favored slid down the pile to quickly surround John.

They didn't raise their weapons. Instead, they went casual when those not of Jorsek's circle came after. Jorsek followed them down the pile.

" Go ahead and return to the village," Jorsek told them. " Tell them of our plans and have them send more men. The rest of us will remain here and keep watch."

The village men nodded, and to John's horror, they took off at a trot into the woods, out of hearing and sight. John could actually feel the blood drain from his face. All around him, rifles were raised pointed directly at him. Jorsek strode menacingly up to John until he was a foot away, mutilating John's personal space.

" Where is Leyn? Where are the others?" Jorsek's breath puffed foul in John's face. " What have you done with them!"

John's body thrummed with anger and fear until he was back to shaking. " Oh give me a freakin' _break_!" He then shoved Jorsek away from him, not caring for the consequences. " I didn't do anything to your damn men! Do you honestly think I could have taken them all down? I mean look at me! You beat the hell out of me, Jorsek, if you happen to recall. I'm not exactly in any kind of shape to be taking anyone down and I barely got out of there alive myself. Your boys were killed by a... I don't even know what the hell it is! Super wraith-mutt from the nether worlds. Pounced 'em and sucked them dry, just like a wraith. Oh, yeah, and speaking of wraith? That's what's been taking your people. And guess what? It's out there, somewhere, about to take more. So listen, Jorsek. As much as I hate this, go ahead and do what you want with me. Just do it quick so you have time to tell the rest of your people what's going on, 'cause thanks to you, you just gave that monster in there," John pointed rigidly at the temple, " a way out. And that thing eats more than the average wraith and heals twice as fast. So kill me, get it over with, go save your people, and be the damn hero!"

John tensed, heart pounding, muscles twitching, for the inevitable shot to the back or at least deck to the face. Instead, Jorsek just stood there, silent and – dare John hope – looking somewhat thoughtful.

" A wraith?" Jorsek said, brow furrowed. " The creatures from legend?"

John shook his head. " Not legend, Jorsek. History. I know it's believed that there's something on this world keeping them away. Well, guess what, there is. There's a creature in those ruins ten times worse than the wraith. So bad it's what's been keeping the wraith away. The wraith here _now_ is one that was stranded, and isn't going to leave until that creature is dead. The proof is in the corpses, Jorsek. You've seen them. Mummified, like something sucked them dry – human and animal alike. That's what wraith do is suck the life out of the living, age them prematurely. I'm pretty sure your legends talk about that."

Jorsek nodded jerkily, seemingly numb. " Yeah. Maj would tell stories... So did the other off-world travelers."

John nodded as well, nervously. " Yeah. But they aren't stories, they're the truth... And you know it."

Jorsek did. John could tell by the troubled look on his face. As much as the man hated John, as much as he was a coward who submitted rather than confronted, he wasn't all that stupid. Jorsek made John the scape-goat, but certainly didn't believe the things he accused John of. John had made sure of that by being nothing but honest (minus the whole claiming to be Maj's son thing.) John had also unwittingly made sure of it by doing what Jorsek was supposed to – protecting the people rather than his own interests. Jorsek could find no fault with John, no reason to believe deceit, which more than likely made Jorsek hate John even more.

So John didn't relax. If anything, his heart pounded harder.

After a moment, Jorsek seemed to snap from his uncertain reverie and look at John.

" If what you say is true," Jorsek said, " then we can use this." He then narrowed his eyes. " First, we'll need bait."

John's heart sunk, and all hope with it.

 __

History was a repetitive SOB. And yet found funny little ways to make that repetitiveness unique each time around. Course rope was tied tight around John's wrist, and the other end was tossed and tied around the thick branch of a tree. He was without his coat, but had been allowed to retain his two shirts and – just for kicks – the bladed sticks tucked into his belt.

" In case you manage to free yourself when the wraith comes," Jorsek said. Though John knew good and well that Jorsek did it out of sheer sadism.

John was once again stretched his full length and then some made uncomfortable by the pull on his cracked rib. When the rope was tied secure around the branch, Jorsek's men started spreading out, some heading back toward the village, and three seeking out suitable spots to hide and await the wraith.

Soon it was just John and Jorsek. Jorsek had his hands clasped behind his back, and stepped toward John.

" Nothing personal, Sheppard," he said.

John wanted very badly to give him the finger. " Yes it is, Jorsek, so stop screwing with me."

" Who knows?" Jorsek said. " You might survive this."

" Good. Then I can come after you."

Jorsek unfolded his hands to pat John on the side of the face. " If you survive." Then he left, giving John a small wave.

" Bastard." John flatly responded. He knew Jorsek wouldn't be sticking around to enjoy the show. The man was a coward, after all.

" Hope you get wraith sucked," John added under his breath. After experiencing being fed on for himself, there was a moment when he wouldn't have wished it on his worst enemy.

He took it back.

TBC...


	22. It's Coming

John was quite amazed to realize that he was more pissed than scared. Or perhaps it was equal given the circumstances. Jorsek was a monumental piece of crap with a fetish for stringing guys up by their wrists. He was also going to get his whole village screwed over, John was certain of it. Jorsek wouldn't get the villagers to take precautions; he would convince them to form a larger posse and go after the wraith hound, and that right there was a horror movie classic in the making.

John twisted and squirmed his wrists trying to loosen the bindings, but had to stop when he felt the first heated line of blood trace down his arm. So he went for a different tactic by gripping the rope then lifting his legs so that he was hanging. The branch moaned, and his shoulders burned causing him to grit his teeth. He remained like this far past his endurance, even jerking a little trying to pull the branch down. The branch was a hell of a lot more stubborn than John, and he eventually gave up when his shoulders couldn't take it anymore.

The sun crawled its way toward the other side of the horizon, and the chilled winds were already starting to pick up. On top of that, John was hungry, thirsty, and aching from head to foot, pin-pointed in his shoulders and one side of his ribcage. John moved his tongue trying to work up some saliva, and instead coated the inside of his mouth with something like sticky slime that made it even harder to swallow. He tried again to use his weight to bring the branch down, except his previous attempt had abused his shoulders to the point where they refused to do it again. The moment he started putting pressure on them, pain flared and he yelped, straightening.

" Traitors," John grumbled.

 _Now would be a nice time for one of those miraculous escapes... or rescues... maybe both?_ Fear switched places with pissed. The forest was going gray with stretching shadows, making it hard for John to see anything. Somewhere, close by or far off, he couldn't tell, a twig snapped, and it made his skin flinch and his heart jump. He turned his head and even his body as far as his neck and the ropes would let him. Branches swayed, moaned, and clacked whenever the wind picked up. That same wind soaked into his sweat-drenched clothes, making him shiver.

The only setback to being rescued was if the wraith was nearby, and got to that rescuer first. The thought of Maj or Gidel – or both – being jumped and sucked dry made John's stomach try to coil into itself. He didn't ponder why Maj, Gidel, or the rest of the town's folk hadn't shown up yet because he preferred they didn't. Though it would have been a nice twist to his predicament if at least one person popped in and cut him down.

John tugged at the ropes without squirming his wrists, and it still hurt. John sucked in a breath and let it out sharply in a stream of foggy air. He heard another snap, and jerked his head in the direction of the sound.

" If you're out there," John called. " Why not just prove it and get this over with? My arms are getting tired."

No one replied, but another twig snapped from another direction. " Taking the whole playing with your food thing too far, aren't you? That wraith hound was having a lot of fun up until I attacked it. You could probably learn a thing or two from that."

Nothing, not even another twig snap. " Hello?"

A sharp wind tugged at his hair and clothes, and he shuddered. He heard flapping that seemed to come from all around him, then a soft thunk that made his branch creak and vibrate. John looked up, and his heart skipped several beats.

" Ris!"

The mini-iaret stared down at him in curious adoration, twitching his head from side to side.

" Ris. How about you pull a Lassie and go get Maj for me. Or better yet Gidel. Go on, go get 'em!"

Ris kept twitching his head, and chirped. Then he turned his attention to the rope, regarding it like a chicken regarding a worm. It pawed at the knot, then bit and tugged. John shook with breathy, frantic laughter.

" That's it Ris. Chew through it."

Ris tugged, jerked his head, and tried gnawing from the side of his mouth. He then switched off, climbing partway down the rope with his back legs clinging to the branch. Ris bit, tugged, and jerked at the ropes around John's wrists. John watched, both relieved and amazed that Ris would get it through his head that a tied up John was a bad thing. Although it made a little sense considering the iaret's intelligence and Ris' former experience with a tied up John involving blood and injury. Ris wasn't going to stand by and let anything else happen to his favorite human pet.

Ris moved back and forth between the knot on the branch and the rope around John's wrist. His constant, frantic gnawing and tugging resulted in the rope starting to fray. John tugged as well testing the strength of both ties.

" Keep it up Ris. Little more..."

John could hear the iaret's little teeth scraping the ropes. Ris switched to the knots around John's wrists, and froze. His head darted up, darted around, then his back arched and he hissed.

John's breathing increased with his heart rate. " Oh gosh no, not now. Why now?"

Ris slowly backed up onto the branch, then turned and scurried up the tree to an even higher branch. John looked up briefly to scowl at the iaret.

" You're not winning any bravery points doing that!"

" It is an animal," an inhuman voice rasped from behind. " Courage is not a trait of animals. Only survival of the self."

John stiffened. " Same could be said about any species."

The wraith stepped around John into his sights and stood before him. John tried to back away, even curl into himself in an automatic response to protect his chest. The wraith smiled baring its teeth. The wraith reached out, and John pulled back struggling against the ropes until more blood ran down his arms. The wraith's freshly healed feeding hand veered up to wipe some of the blood onto it's claw. It brought the claw in close, studying the blood, and John half expected the wraith to lick its claw clean.

" Humans have shown themselves to go either way," the wraith said. " Some have let others die to save themselves, but many more die trying to save others."

The wraiths hand shot out and ripped open both of John's shirts to just a little past his sternum. It shoved both halves of the shirts aside, and John tensed for the coming, crushing impact of a feeding hand into his chest. Instead, The wraith just stared at his chest and though studying it, which disturbed John beyond his present level of disturbed.

He'd never considered the possibility of a mentally unstable wraith. But how could this wraith not be? Alone for centuries, hunting while being hunted. That super wraith that had kill Abrams and Gaul hadn't seemed too stable, especially after it confessed to feeding off its own kind – Silence of the Lambs gone wraith.

As though proving Sheppard's point, rather than commencing to the feeding, the wraith began to stroke Sheppard's chest with its knuckles, starting just below the throat and going all the way to the tip of the breast bone. John's stomach bucked in revulsion, and his body shook with a mix of disgust, anger, and terror. He'd never quite come to terms with any sort of physical contact with his chest, especially by hands. Simply having his heart checked made him tense as a guitar string. Having a hand touching him now – a wraith hand of all things – was attempting to trigger a panic attack that had his heart pounding painfully. John tried to pull away but had already pulled as far as he could. He stared at the wraith, oozing only defiance as best he could, as the wraith stared at his chest as though savoring the moment right before the kill.

" You," The wraith said. " You have courage. Great courage. I can feel the blood rushing through your veins, and the beat of your heart. I can hear it. It beats fast, strong. Not just out of terror. You may die screaming, or you may not. But you will die facing me by your own choice. You will be defiant to the last, and I will savor it."

The wraith pulled his arm back and spread the fingers of its feeding hand, ready to plunge. The wraith was right about one thing; John was going to be defiant. Ignoring the scream of pain in his shoulders, he lifted his legs and kicked out with both feet sending the wraith staggering back. The wraith righted himself and grinned, then advanced. John squirmed and tugged on the frayed ropes that he finally felt begin to loosen. The wraith reared its hand back aiming for John's vulnerable chest.

Ris shot out of the trees like a diving hawk, and in a shriek and powerful flutter of wings, attacked the wraith at the face. The wraith stumbled back swatting at Ris who dodged by veering or flapping back. Ris drove the wraith back, and John stepped up the writhing, pulling, and twisting until all of a sudden his blood-slicked hands slipped free of the loosened ropes. John crumpled to the ground, and immediately rolled back onto his feet. He swiped the blood off his palms onto his pants then jumped up to grab the remaining rope and pull himself up to the branch. He grabbed the branch, then swung his feet forward until they hit the trunk. He moved his feet up the trunk until he was able to get his legs to wrap around the branch. Next, he twisted and jerked until his entire body was on top of the branch. He eased himself upright, first sitting, then onto his feet by grabbing the branch above him for support.

By the time Ris realized that Sheppard was no longer in danger and flew back to the tree, John was standing on the branch staring down at the wraith, safely beyond reach.

The wraith snorted out a mixture of blood and snot. The cuts on its face were already starting to heal rapidly. John squinted.

" Something tells me you already ate. Which would explain why the calvary hasn't come." Of course he'd already assumed that the wraith had snacked on the men spread out in wait. No wraith could ignore such pickings.

That was three less of Jorsek's posse.

John kept one hand on the branch above him for balance, and with the other closed the ripped portions of his shirts. The pre-dinner fondling was still making John's stomach squirm, and had left him feeling violated. He rubbed the area that ached with phantom pains making him shudder with nauseating remembrance.

The wraith circled where John had been standing. " You cannot stay up there forever, human."

" And you can't stay down there forever. Not if you don't want that hell hound finding you."

The wraith smirked. " The beast is trapped within the ruins. It cannot escape..." and then the wraith's smile was gone as it gradually processed until realization slapped him with ugly reality.

John nodded rigidly. " Yeah, how do you think we got in there? Through those holes?"

The wraith snarled. " Fools! It took seasons to chase the creature into the ruins and trap it! You have doomed your own kind!"

John narrowed his eyes. " I didn't do squat. The whole dooming thing is someone else's fault. You've got two choices here. Run for your life or stand there like bait for that _thing_ to find you."

The wraith narrowed his eyes in return, suspiciously. " You are lying, human. You are just trying to get me to flee so that you may escape. But it will not work. I can out-wait you, human. As you have said, I have already taken my fill."

" Which makes me dessert, which you must really love since you're risking your ass for it. If I toss you cookie will you go away?"

Darkness was spreading fast in the forest, making the wraith difficult to see, but not difficult enough for John to notice it tensing back on its legs. John released his shirts to grip the top branch and pull upward just as the wraith jumped and clawed where John's feet had been seconds ago. Ris dove out of his branch and attacked the wraith until it was driven back, then flew upward and away.

John just kept both his hands on the above branch. He wanted to climb higher, except he couldn't. He needed to be close enough to the ground to jump. He needed to be ready. Cold air brushed his exposed chest and he shivered.

" I will feed on you, human," the wraith badgered. " I will tear into your flesh, and pull the life from you one year at a time."

John adjusted his hold on the top branch. " Promises promises. Maybe you should stop talking. You never know what might be listening."

The wraith resumed pacing circles beneath John, kind of like a game of Duck Duck Goose. There was no knowing when the wraith would jump and tag.

John never did like geese. They were vicious, and more relentless than pit bulls. Once they bit, they fought to never let go. He gripped the branch tighter.

" No one will come for you, human," the wraith taunted.

" I don't expect them to."

" Then why do you delay the inevitable?"

John shrugged. " Because I can. Hey, you said I'd be defiant. Just being defiant for ya."

The wraith chuckled nastily. " You are amusing, human. Perhaps the wait is worth it."

John chanced a glance into the thickening darkness. " Somehow I doubt that."

 _Her kitty, kitty. Let's haul some fur-less ass you mutant Cujo._ Chance had full reign of the situation now. John tried to stay positive about it – that creature was smart, so it would know where to come – but he couldn't help feeling as though he were caught up in a little Russian roulette using three bullets. The wraith grabs him, he dies. The beast grabs him, he dies. The beast gets the wraith, then him, he dies. Or lady luck gives him a wink and a smirk, and he lives.

John catches the wraith's second jump and pulls up in time to avoid it. Ris dove down and swooped circles around the wraith until it was driven back. The wraith snarled and nearly batted Ris right out of the sky.

" Delay will bring you nothing!" The wraith barked.

John chanced another glance, and thought he saw a mound of shadow slip in behind a copse of trees.

" Actually..."

A bulky horse-sized body slammed into the back of the wraith with a snarl, and brought him down to be buried under the bald, blue pile of flesh and muscle that was the wraith beast. John jumped from his branch to the ground with knees buckling under him. He rolled and scrambled to his feet that slid under him on the carpeting of needles and dead leaves. He was momentarily caught up in a running nightmare – moving while staying put as though the ground had become a treadmill. When his tread finally found solid dirt, he pushed off into a tearing run through the woods, dodging shadowy trees and leaping over fallen logs.

Pain spiked from John's leg, and radiated out from his burning lungs. One side of his ribcage cramped on each heaving inhale, and yet fear numbed it all for him, like white noise with the volume turned down. The darkness was blue-black around him with obstacles betrayed by their darker shapes. But there was always that one log half buried in the ground, or a deep pothole in the earth hidden by dry loam and dead leaves, that snagged him and sent him sprawling to the ground. He banged one knee and skinned both, then scraped both arms only to scurry back to his feet without altering his speed. And he never looked back.

John's awareness was all about the running and maintaining the run. The protests of his body were quiet like a timid request for him to stop and rest, but not daring to voice it any louder. John almost didn't care if he ended up running forever, just as long as that wraith beast never caught up to him. Running was safety, was freedom, and as long as he kept running then he couldn't be touched.

Yet the moment the square lights of a house flitted into sight through the trees, John stumbled, and choked out a cry of relief. And still he kept running, into the backyard of the house, then beyond the house into the street. He veered to cut through back yards moving in the direction of Maj's house. He was closer than he realized, and would have run right past the house if Ris hadn't glided in to land before the front door and began hopping up and down, chirping frantically.

John staggered toward a stop and still collided with the door. He rattled the knob that wouldn't turn, then pounded on the door with both fists.

" Maj! Maj open the door! Oh, crap please be home. Maj, please! Open the door!"

John paused when he heard a click, and his heart thudded. He didn't wait for Maj to open the door but opened it himself and stumbled in with Ris nearly tripping him. John would have fallen to his face if Maj hadn't grabbed him. She eased John down to sit on the second step of the stairs, where John slumped against the wall, gasping for breath that seared his throat and lungs, and closing his eyes. He heard the door slam shut and various locks click into place. The sound of those locks sent a torrent of wonderful numb spreading through John's body. It attempted to pull him into empty oblivion, away from the running and the terror. He was ready to give in, wanted to so bad that even now his head began to swim in the murk of incoherent thought.

He wanted to stop existing, just for a moment.

" John?"

A hand on his shoulder ripped him from oblivion. He jumped, and snapped his eyes open with a gasp, shivering and coughing. It hurt just to breathe.

One hand remained on his shoulder, an arm slid across his back for that hand to grip his other shoulder. " It's all right, John. You're all right." The hand on his other shoulder moved to his neck, then to his face, and he heard a small gasp. " John, you're freezing. Come on..."

The hands shifted position again, one around his arm to drape it over Maj's shoulders, the other around his chest. Maj pulled, and John tried to comply, but he just couldn't. His legs had taken on the consistency of Jello and refused to put up with his weight. Maj had to pretty much drag him from the stairs into the living room and dump him on the couch. She lifted up his legs, and he heard another small gasp escape her.

" John, your leg..."

John barely heard. His brain and body were attempting to go two different directions. Again, he was happy to let them, except that he couldn't, not right now. He was exhausted for a reason, and that reason was still out there. He blinked away the sleep-haze obscuring his mind in time to see Maj rising to go fetch healing herbs and other items. John snagged her wrist, but his grip was too weak and Maj easily dislodged it, setting John's hand on his stomach.

" Just rest there, John. I'll be back in a minute."

And she was, or perhaps John had drifted off, since it wasn't long afterwards that he felt Maj's hand on his forehead and feeling along his face.

" You're as cold as ice," she said tremulously. John forced his eyelids to peel apart to the now brightened living room. John tried to sit up, but Maj pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder.

" Maj," John said, panting with the effort of attempting to sit up. " Maj, listen to me. We've got a problem, and I mean cataclysmic, apocalypse type problem."

Maj had removed John's boot and was cleaning the gash on his leg with a wet cloth. She looked at John nervously, then back at the gash. " Tarl told us that it had been Jorsek who'd gone to the ruins. I wanted to fetch you, John, but he wouldn't let anyone else go up. I tried to slip away but was caught and put under house arrest."

John hissed when Maj hit a tender spot on the gash. " Good."

Maj lifted both eyebrows. " Good?"

" Yes, good. Maj, Jorsek's basically screwed your whole village. Gidel was right. That temple wasn't sealed to keep others out, it was to keep something in, and Jorsek released it when he unsealed the place."

Maj dipped the rag into the bowl of water on the floor and wrung it out.

" A wraith?"

John shook his head. " Way worse. But a wraith is... was... the one making off with all your people. Just one. It's dead now."

Maj wiped more blood and dirt from the wound. " You killed it?"

John shook his tired head. " No. The thing formerly trapped in the temple did." A surge of fear gave John the strength to bolt upright. " Crap! It's coming Maj. We need to warn people."

Maj tried to push him back down, but John was rigid as a tree and not about to budge.

" John, please, you need to calm down. You're exhausted. Just let me bind this wound and then you can get up."

John glanced out the window into the thick darkness that was less blue and more black. He nodded, complying since he'd rather not have to deal with the hindrance of an injured leg, but he didn't lay back down.

" What is this creature you speak of?" Maj asked, working both quickly yet carefully. John didn't take his gaze from the window.

" The reason the wraith won't touch your world. It's some sort of a... I don't know, wraith monster, like a cross between an animal and a wraith. Four legged, but sucks living creatures dry, and its huge. It's smart too. Freaky smart, and a glutton. And chances are good it's coming here, right now."

Maj spread on some poultice but didn't wait for it to dry before wrapping on a clean bandage. When finished, she handed John his boot, and he maneuvered into a sitting position to pull it back on. Maj then handed him a cup of cold water that John downed greedily in a single breath. The feel of his parched throat easing in the onslaught of moisture was indescribable and left him breathless. Maj checked him over for other injuries, lifting up both shirts to probe his ribs, then looking closely at his face. John let her as an excuse for himself as to why he wasn't moving. He needed a moment, just a moment, to catch all the breath he'd lost running with a literal hell hound on his heels.

Finally, he couldn't take it any more. As much as he longed for the relief, as much as he needed a quiet moment just to breathe, such luxuries couldn't happen until the turmoil was over and done with.

If anything, it was probably just beginning. John pushed himself to his feet and had to be steadied by Maj when he lurched drunkenly. He was a little troubled by the exhaustion. Then again, he hadn't exactly clocked how long he'd been running.

" John..."

John looked at Maj. She wanted to protest and get him to sit back down. He could see the struggle in her eyes to form the right words that would hold Sheppard back, fighting with the knowledge that John would not – could not – listen. Not yet, not now. This situation wasn't even close to over, and that made John even more weary; not just bone deep but soul deep, and all he wanted to do right then and there was sleep.

Instead, he settled for letting Maj guide him to the kitchen and sit at the table.

" Turn off the lights," John said. " All of them."

Maj complied, and plunged the house into darkness one room at a time. She pulled shut the curtains of the kitchen, and lit a small, red-wax candle in a copper-colored stand and set it in the middle of the table. The dark curtains were thick enough, and the candle small enough, for the light not to betray their presence to anything outside.

John felt a slight increase of weight around his shoulders, and the gradual pooling of warmth around his body. He reached up with a trembling hand to run it along the hem of a blanket.

" Maj," he tried to argue, but Maj placed her hands on John's shoulders to keep him from dislodging the blanket.

" Keep it on, just for a moment. Just until you stop shivering."

John smiled wearily. " That's not entirely because I'm cold. Maj, does your town have some kind of warning system? Like for when the brigands attack or something?"

Maj began rubbing John's right arm, then the left to produce more warmth through friction. " Yes, we do actually. An electronic one. But it's located at the meeting hall. I'd have to contact Larum."

" Do it. Unless it means the people'll be running outside armed to the teeth, then forget it. Everyone needs to stay inside and out of sight. This thing knows how to hunt without making a sound, so there's no way of knowing if it's sneaking up on you or not."

Maj gave John a stiff nod then hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. John wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. He really wasn't sure if staying indoors would actually do any good. This thing wasn't stupid, and would more than likely be real quick about figuring out that glass breaks without much effort, and wooden doors are a lot more giving than rocks. Still, inside was better than outside any day. Perhaps if they could wait it out until morning where daylight would afford the humans the advantage, the right sized hunting party could probably kill it.

After it killed half the hunting party.

A knock at the door mad John startle. He pushed his aching body from the seat with one hand clutching the blanket and moved to the door. He peered through the small round window at the top to see the massive frame of Gidel standing on the front porch bouncing on his heels to stay warm. John's nerves jolted with alarm and he quickly, with shaking hands that kept fumbling, clicked the various locks and swung the door open. Gidel opened his mouth about to speak, then reared his head back.

" John?"

John grabbed Gidel's arm and pulled him inside. He shut the door and clicked the locks back into place.

" I heard Jorsek say you were still up at the ruins keeping watch. Knew the dung heap was lying but Tarl's got it so we can't leave the village," Gidel said

John took another glance out the small window. " Tarl has the right idea."

Footsteps thumped heavily down the stairs. " That idiot Larum wouldn't listen to me," Maj huffed. " Looks like Jorsek got to him first and told him everything was fine."

Gidel nodded. " Yeah, he even convinced Larum to double the watch. I've been freezing my end off out there thanks to him."

John whirled around in shock. " You mean there's people out there?"

Gidel nodded looking a little stupefied. " Yeah, about the majority of the men of the village. A handful were on their way back to the ruins when Jorsek brought them back saying not to bother. Wouldn't go into the details, just that things have changed and everyone needed to stay put. Then he and Tarl got into an argument which I'm pretty sure they're still at. Why? What's going on."

John slumped against the door, feeling yet another extra weight of weariness try to shove him down. " Crap!" He shook his head, and heaved out a heavy sigh. " Maj, I'm going to need to borrow a coat, scarf and hat. Gidel, you need to stay here and keep an eye on your aunt." John pushed off of the wall to go snag the needed items from the closet, with Maj and Gidel following.

" John, no! You can't go out there," Maj said.

John pulled a coat, scarf, and black-knit cap from the closet and threw them on. " Just to the meeting house and back to switch on that alarm. People need to be inside or that monster's going to pick them off one by one."

" Monster?" Gidel said. " What monster."

" I'll explain later, Gidel," Maj replied, and followed John to the door. " John, you can't because you're near exhaustion. You're going to collapse."

John clicked the locks, opened the door, and stepped out. " No time. And stay inside." He partially turned to look at Maj and gave her a reassuring grin. " Trust me. I've been through this crap before."

He left, and shut the door behind him before Maj could say anything more.

TBC...


	23. Hell Hound

John made a B-line for the barn at a fast walk, slipped around it to the right, and mentally spat curses at himself for not asking Maj if she had a spare rifle. He still had his blades but a rifle would have given him the appearance of another fellow patrolman. Then again, he could always bluff and say he had a hand gun. He was really starting to miss his nine mil.

On emerging from the shadow of the barn, John went at a brisk but casual walk up the street. He wasn't panic-stupid enough to go tearing through a town full of wandering, edgy, paranoid, trigger happy villagers who would probably end up shooting their own mothers before calling for them to halt. John turned his head in time to catch one of the locals slipping out of the shadow of a house and turn his head in John's direction. John gave him an indifferent wave, and tensed when the man stopped and stared. Three heartbeats later, he was waving back.

The tension remained immovable in John's body. He returned to his brisk walk in the direction of town, listening into the silence for approaching footsteps, or a brief scream of agony. The latter he didn't put much stock into. That hell hound had taken down Leyn's bearded buddy without a sound from either predator or prey, and that was just wrong. A creature that big, pain that excruciating, how could there not be sound? John was feeling a lot less boggled concerning the hell hound victory over the wraith.

Also for that reason, John realized to his annoyance that he wasn't shaking because of the cold or fatigue. The coat was too warm, and his body had recovered enough from fleeing in terror to pump out the adrenaline. He'd learn to stop giving into the shakes long ago when he'd determined that living or dying didn't matter, it was the effort. Focus on the effort, and fear becomes nothing more than background noise occasionally whispering sweet warnings in his ear. The stumbling block to controlling fear, however, was the various _types_ of deaths there were to endure. Broken bones – whatever, one gets used to those. Being shot, the same. Being tortured for information or for kicks – anger usually trumps fear.

Getting fed on, sucked dry, aged prematurely in a haze of indescribable agony; that tended to make one pause and rethink the whole 'I don't care if I live or die' issue. If John had to die, he would take a bullet, be content with having his neck broken, hell he'd even been resigned to starving to death on more than one occasion. But fed on – John imagined hell to be a place full of eternally hungry wraith forever feeding on damned souls.

John didn't want to go through that a second time around, even if he didn't survive it. He'd always willingly accepted that there would be some moments in his military life that would leave unseen scars on his soul and psyche. Ones that left him shaking when recalled and poured fuel into his nightmares. Hell, his psyche profile record was probably so thick Heightmeyer had to get three marines and Ronon to help lift it out of the filing cabinet (Actually, John had caught a glimpse of said folder, and to this day was still a little troubled by its size). So he had a right to tremble over the prospect of having the life sucked from him - again. He'd been there, done that, and all he got for it was a bunch of lousy bad dreams and a phobia of being touched on the chest. Right up there with his giant bug phobia, hatred toward leaving people behind, and clowns. _Damn circus._

John caught sight of other wandering patrolmen as he headed to the meeting hall, and it gave him a small spark of comfort. No one screaming, no one running shouting for help only to be taken down by a mass of muscle-bulging flesh. So far so good kind of deal. Although John had to wonder where the hell that wraith dog was, what it was up to, and if it was already picking off the patrol one by one even as John was heading to the center of town.

The spark of comfort fled from John like a rat into its hole at first light. He tried to double time it while remaining at a walk, and nearly started running which he had no doubts would get him shot on the spot. Walking, no matter how fast, made his legs ache and his nerves vibrate infuriatingly with the need to launch into another mad dash that would more than likely send him face first into the dirt from exhaustion.

Seriously, he could not praise fear enough at this moment. He felt exhaustion prowling at the recesses of his mind and body, prodding him with aching lungs and a sore throat. He promised himself a week long nap when this was all over – should he still be alive to appreciate it being all over.

When John came to the gathering stage, he slowed and breathed out a silent sigh of relief. The meeting hall was just on the other side, a geometric ink blot that the street lights couldn't quite reach. John headed toward it moving around the other side of the stage. He grabbed the handle to the front door and rattled it with no effect. The place was locked.

John twisted his mouth in discomfort, then unwound his scarf.

 _They can bill me for this later._ He wrapped the scarf around his fist as thick and tight as he could get it, then stepped to the side and punched through the window. He winced at the shattering reverberations that someone would have definitely heard. He removed the scarf and slipped his arm into the hole up to his shoulder, arching his arm around and fumbling his fingers over the door until they met the cool metal of the handle. He felt for the lock and clicked it, then opened the door from the inside while he was at it. John slid his arm out, yanked the door open, and ran inside.

 _My kingdom for a freakin' flashlight!_ John really hadn't thought this all through. Then again, he'd been more preoccupied in trying to keep Gidel or Maj from following him.

There was enough light from the street lamps outside to make out a few shapes in the darkness. Neat rows of chairs lined up before a small stage with a podium, and that was all he could distinguish. Then, on moving over to the wall, his thigh thunked painfully into a table edge.

" Crap!" he gritted, and felt along the top for this alarm switch. When that yielded nothing, he moved his hand to the wall and felt along it for wires or the switch itself.

Outside, beams of light flashed across the street.

" Damnit!" John's motions became frantic. He moved along the wall and toward the stage, feeling, even slapping the walls looking for secret compartments.

It wasn't until he was on the stage that he heard a hollow thump in one of the logs making up the hall. He felt the log out while outside the spazzing beams of light were joined by calls and shouts. John's fingers felt what he assumed to be a key-hole by the metal and shape.

" Screw this," John said. He pulled out a blade, jammed it into a seam next to the lock, and pried. The panel on the log creaked then popped with a crack. He felt out the switch – a simple, small lever – and gripped it. Then the door burst open and the lights flared on. John squinted against the sudden illumination and pulled the lever.

He managed to pull it halfway when a bullet pinged off the log next to John. John ducked in a cringe raising both hands to protect his face from the flying splinters.

" Don't move!"

John didn't. His eyes rolled to the front door where the shooter stood – one of Jorsek's posse.

 _Well damnit all to hell again._ John looked from the man to the lever that obviously needed to be all the way down in order to work. John really needed to start bettering his timing.

More men entered the room squeezing past the one guarding the door, and started spreading throughout while at the same time not getting too close to John. Most of them, pretty much all of them, were not Jorsek's men, and John even spotted Arvlan toward the back staring at John wide-eyed and completely confused.

The man of the hour entered last. He sauntered in like a one confident in his position, though that confidence slipped a little when he saw John.

 _Probably hoping I was the wraith._

The confidence shifted back into place, bringing with it tempered annoyance.

" Sheppard," he said. " Weren't you supposed to be staying behind with the rest at the ruins, keeping watch?"

John was really, really starting to miss his nine mil. " Um..." John glanced surreptitiously at all the weapons pointed his way. " Slight change of plans, it seems. Everyone's dead. Wraith got 'em."

Several of the weapons lowered so the men behind them could gawk like witnesses at a car wreck. John looked at Jorsek as though he were the biggest idiot in two galaxies, which he pretty much was at this point.

" You didn't tell them!"

Jorsek glared but cracks were spreading in his confidence. " To prevent panic."

John took a step forward and the rifles resumed their position of being trained on him.

" Jorsek you freakin' moron! I guess that means you didn't tell them about the beast either?"

Arvlan looked from John to Jorsek. " What beast?"

" The one your chief protector released getting into those ruins. Jorsek that _thing_ is heading down here, probably is here. You need to let me switch on the alarm and everyone needs to get back into their homes and barricade themselves in. This beast is smart, man, and it's hungry..."

Jorsek's feature's twisted – not so much with anger, but panic that he tried to cover with anger - and he swung his own rifle around to point it at John. " Enough! I will not let you send these people into a panic over some monster. The only threat here is that wraith, and apparently you. We can handle one wraith..."

" The wraith is dead!" John shouted. " I told you that thing killed it! Jorsek, what the hell is your problem? You're going to kill everyone here if you don't listen!"

Suddenly, Arvlan pulled around his weapon and stepped toward Jorsek. " Jorsek, perhaps you should listen to the man. I mean, he is slightly more credible than you, what with you telling most of the folk here that you went to the ruins under Tarl's jurisdiction, which apparently wasn't all that true. I know you probably meant well, but you do accomplish quite a bit to leave a man questioning."

Several heads nodded in agreement. John would have hugged Arvlan if he'd been within reach.

Jorsek's face began to glow with a thin film of sweat until drops formed to go sliding down his face. He kept his rifle raised and his aim on John, until Arvlan and several others raised their own weapons, keeping the barrels down but making their intent clear. Finally, Jorsek lowered his own rifle.

John was amazed. He'd hoped for some show of support from at least Arvlan, but hadn't actually expected to get any, nor this quick. But it had probably been a long time in coming, this little rebellion, especially now that half of Jorsek's followers had been diminished.

 _Ah sweet retribution._

Arvlan nodded to John. " Go ahead with the switch. I doubt the fool leaders of our town are going to listen to reason."

John stepped back and wrapped his hand around the switch. A scream ripped through the silence before he could pull it. Every head turned toward the front door, and John could just make out someone running straight for them, shouting shrill and cracked. The stringy young man burst into the room, panting, sweating, with eyes wide enough to pop out of his head.

" I – I - I," he gasped, pointing back the way he came. " I found... I found... Syfis Mettings... I-I-I-I think it was Syfrus... But there wasn't anything left... Just bones and... Gaw it can't be him. He looks like he's rotted within hours. Someone must have put a coat on a corpse..."

Cold tore through John's spine. " Son of a bitch!" and he slammed the switch down the rest of the way. The alarm pulsated whiny and mechanical. John jumped from the stage and strode purposefully up to the rest of the men.

" Everyone needs to get back to their home or the nearest shelter they can find and barricade themselves in there now!"

" Shouldn't we be hunting this beast?" Someone called.

" No, because it'll find you before you can find it. Listen, we go as one since there's safety in numbers and we can watch each other's backs. We go to each home or the nearest place of safety for those who live farther away. As long as we watch out for each other, we should be fine."

" Should be?" Jorsek sneered.

John glowered at him. " Better than if we went it alone to get picked off one by one."

The men murmured their agreements, and quickly filed out of the meeting house into the street. Lights from windows flecked the darkness, but thankfully no one had been witless enough to come out and see what was going on. No one except for Larum, who was standing before his front door in his nightclothes.

" What is going on!" He demanded. " Who triggered the alarm?"

The red-headed man Jon identified as Gidel's friend raised a placating hand. " We did, sir. And we need you to get back inside."

Larum folded his arms tight across his chest to preserve warmth. He was looking too nervous for it to be classified as a stubborn act. " Not until I'm told what is going on."

As though to answer the question, a scream shattered the otherwise still night, and everyone turned in time to see a man (one of Jorsek's) just as he was pulled beneath the Gathering stage. Men shouted, aimed their guns at the darkness beneath the platform, and fired. John heard a bellowing snarl, and saw a flash of light off iridescent eyes. John sucked in a breath to shout a warning, and didn't get any farther when the hell hound burst out from under the stage to plow through the gathered men, grabbing one and carrying him off screaming into the shadows between two houses.

The last straw didn't break the camel until Jorsek, in his terror, screamed.

" _Ruuuuun!"_

To John's horror, many of the men did, scattering like sheep at the arrival of the wolf. Larum bolted back into his house and slammed the door shut.

" No!" John shouted. " We need to stick together! Ah son of a..." He turned furiously to see Arvlan, Gidel's friend, and at least fourteen other men who'd had mental capacity enough to stick around. " Let's go," he said. They took off at a run up the street, taking turns peering over their shoulders. They heard someone's distant scream, and the scream was cut off.

They slowed when a man broke off toward his house, and resumed running once he was inside. Their little group diminished quick when two and sometimes three men broke away toward a house. The night was loud with the alarms shrieking and dying men shrieking periodically over the alarms.

That wraith dog was moving fast.

Soon, too soon in John's opinion, it was just Arvlan, Gidel's friend, and John. They hurried down the street with John in the lead. They were coming around a building when movement drew John's attention to the left. He halted and back peddled into Arvlan and the other man, purposefully pushing them back. John peered around the wall of the building they hid behind, and watched with a knotted gut as the wraith dog pawed at a door. He could feel Arvlan peering over his shoulder.

" What is it? The monster?"

John moved enough to let Arvlan see. Arvlan sucked in an alarmed breath through clenched teeth. " It's blasted huge!" he hissed, then looked back at John. " How's a thing like that going to be killed?"

John, panting heavily, shook his head. " I have no idea. It heals fast. I'd had hoped everyone would stay barricaded until morning so we could track it easier, and go at it at once. Keep wounding it until someone's able to go for the head and whack it off." John switched places with Arvlan and looked. The hell hound was ramming itself into the door, even clawing it, and making good headway. John reached out behind him to take Arvlan's gun, when a man trying to slip past the beast was spotted. The creature lost interest in the door and lunged for the man, grabbing him around the chest with its mandibles and carrying him screaming into the darkness to eat him in peace.

John's chest felt hollow with horror, but he swallowed it back and signaled with a jerk of his head for them to keep going. They tore across the open until they were behind the safety of another structure, then tore off again.

The next house within range was Arvlan's, and they veered toward it. Arvlan fumbled with his house keys before unlocking the door and stepping inside, followed by Gidel's friend. John remained standing outside, glancing over his shoulder.

" John," Arvlan said. " What is it? Do you see it? Come inside."

John continued to stare back behind him into the darkness between the houses across the street. " Once that monster finishes the men outside," he said, speaking his thoughts out loud more than talking to Arvlan, " it's going for the people in the houses. I don't think locking up and hiding in one little room is going to help. This thing needs to die, now."

Arvlan was about to step outside when John, without looking at him, put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. He was closer to Maj's house now, could probably make it if he ran. And if he could just run a little further, beyond Maj's house..."

John grinned. " I have an idea. Just stay here and keep your family safe." He didn't give time for Arvlan to respond when he was off running, again, hauling ass over the dusty road straight toward Maj's house. When he was five houses away from Arvlan's, he stopped, and turned, gasping for breath and smiling fearfully.

He was definitely going to die this time, even if this plan succeeded. Because this time around it wasn't about his survival, it was about everyone else's.

No regrets in that.

John cupped his hands over his mouth. " Heeeeey! Heeeeeeerrrrre Doggy! You wanna come out and play! I'm still alive if you wanna finish that game we started! Bet you'd love to take a few of my limbs for the ones I took from you! Well! I'm here, so _come and get it!"_ His call tore from his chest and ended on a coughing fit that had him doubled over and momentarily dizzy. He shook it off, turned, and pushed into a jog that eventually turned into a run. He ran with heaving breaths sending strings of saliva flying from his mouth, and shooting periodic glances and shouts over his shoulder. He ran until Maj's house bobbed into view, with all the lights off as though no one were home.

John altered course, keeping distance between him and the house so Maj couldn't spot him right away. He cast one last, long, sorrowful and regretful look at the house.

 _Sorry Maj. You tried, and I'm glad you did. But this is for you._ He ran beyond the house and onto the road leading to the Iaret cliffs. When the house vanished behind the trees, John ran a little further then stopped, turned, and cupped his hands around his mouth.

" I'm over here you mutant wraith bitch! Come and get me!"

He waited, not knowing why and even though it was torment for his agonized nerves and screaming instincts. He listened but could barely hear beyond the blood rushing through his ears and his labored breathing that wheezed with each inhale.

Then came the howl, close enough to make his skin crawl, but leave his bones still. John swiftly but unsteadily removed his coat and tossed it on the ground. The last thing he needed was its bulk stifling his movements. As he turned, he removed and tossed the over shirt as well with it being too loose and easy to snag. John returned to running that receded into a jog when the road inclined

" Come on pup! Don't you like fetch!" He called in a cracked, wheezing voice. He pushed his burning legs until his eyes teared up from the pain. And it was getting damn harder to breath.

 _Little further, little further, little further..._ Each 'further' became a hundred miles for him. He began stumbling, and dark spots pulsed in his vision.

Then the trees opened up into the star pricked night sky and the endless stretch of valley highlighted in silvery moonlight. John scrambled, stumbled, and scurried further on upward, over craggy rocks and sticking shrubs, until the moonlight revealed the outcropping over the canyon.

John turned and hopped from the edge onto the steeply inclined path leading into the ravine. Running was impossible thanks to the loose dirt and rocks, so he slid and staggered down. On the third level, he heard stones skittering, and felt a few pelt his head. John looked up, and wished he hadn't.

The hell hound was looking down at him, and it was grinning again.

 _Damn that thing can be quiet._

John pulled out his blades and cautiously backed away. The hound jumped from its level to John's with a thud and a scrape of claws on rocks.

 _Not a bad idea._ John stepped to the side, and jumped as well, but his knees gave out. He rolled a ways managing to roll back to his feet in time to see the creature land as well. So John jumped again, and this time he kept his knees locked. He began to back away, staring up at the hell hound who had yet to jump. It was just staring at him with head slightly tilted like a curious pup – except for that damn toothy grin of its. John narrowed his eyes at the beast.

" What's so funny?"

John heard a sound – deep, throaty, rumbling like a distant train. Laughter.

" _Hhhhhuuuuumaaaan."_

John nearly dropped the sticks. He balked. " Oh hell you talk."

The creature chuckled again. " _Hhhhhuuuumaaaan."_

The wraith had certainly outdone themselves in genetic screw ups.

John felt queasy enough to vomit on the spot. " This just keeps getting better and better," he moaned miserably, and continued backing up.

The hell hound finally landed on John's level and stalked toward him, again taking time to relish the cat and mouse game. John jumped onto the next level, yet before he had the chance to look up, a heavy, foul smelling, rock solid mass tackled him, and his stomach flipped in momentary weightlessness. He felt the wind ripping through his hair, pushing against his body, and heard it roaring through his ears. The world spun and blurred past him, but he had no breath in his lungs to scream.

The ride ended with a sickening crack and another shove to the lungs that expelled any recaptured air.

Yet John felt no pain, only aches throughout his whole body. He wasn't given any more time to assess his condition when he felt himself being flipped from his chest to his back, and the solid body below him was now on top. Sheppard's breath caught in his throat as he witnessed the hell hound's half mutilated face and totally smashed shoulder pop, fuse, and grow back into place. The chipped bones of the shoulder filled, and the chunks of flesh hanging by threads were pulled back to the body. The wraith dog smiled. A red, undulating worm-like tongue slid over its teeth to wipe away the stains of black blood.

That same tongue snaked out again and traveled from John's hip all the way up his neck and along his face, trailing flecks of black blood and transparent slime.

John shuddered and grimaced. " Bad dog."

The creature chuckled, deep and slow. In that moment of amusement, John realized with a start that he was still gripping the ornate handles of both bladed sticks. Even subconsciously he was stubborn. He brought one blade up and plunged it into the creature's neck. The hell hound whipped its head back with a thunderous cry that stabbed into John's ears forcing him to curl up against the onslaught, trying to scream above it. The cry continued to echo when an impact sent his body rolling to the edge of the ravine and into the frigid water. The cold shocked the sense back into him, and he gasped, shaking water from his face. He turned his head to see the hell hound stalking again with the blade still in its neck. John struggled to his feet in the ankle-high water and held his other blade before him.

The canyon was loud with the panicked shriek of Iarets and the thunder of their flapping wings. He could feel the air from those wings pushing against him.

" Come on," John urged. " Come on." He glanced up at the iaret-clouded sky, then back at the beast.

Just in time to see its claw lash out and strike him in the side and across the arm. The momentum spun John around, and yet he managed to keep on his feet, and staggered back to facing front. The beast lashed again. John leaped back but still got a vicious graze to the chest that burned. An iaret dove snapping at the creature, and the creature snapped at it. John took the opportunity to run forward, grab the blade embedded in the creature, and yank it out. The creature reacted by batting John like a toy ball with strength that sent him flying and smashing onto the unrelenting ground. He rolled several times before he stopped. Pain ignited along his side, pain that was making it impossible to catch his breath.

The creature loomed over him with mandibles out. It was all smiles until three iarets dove and snapped at it. The hell hound lifted its head and reared trying to return the favor. John scurried backwards until he was back on his feet with both sticks in both hands. The hell hound was still trying to catch the iarets, so John rushed forward and swung one blade, but his aim was premature, slicing through the thick flesh of the throat without slicing through bone. The wound already started healing and the creature lowered its head to return its attention to John. It roared, and crouched for a pounce. John didn't give it the chance when he swung out again and severed a mandible.

This annoyed more than hurt the thing. It snarled, baring bloody teeth. It slashed out with its claws, so John skipped back and slashed out with his blade, severing two of the fingers. It became like a deranged dance between them. The beast would strike out or try to lunge, and Sheppard would strike in return. In between, more iarets dove to snap and bite, creating a distraction for the monster and an opportunity for John to go for the head. Except he could never get close enough for a severing swipe.

The constant assaults by both John and the iarets infuriated the beast into a manic frenzy of biting, clawing and rearing like a cat caught by its tail trying to buck free. John's assaults became less, and the beast's more, striking John with its claws, raking his arms, legs, back, chest, and stomach. It was as though it no longer cared to keep him alive to feed. It just wanted an enemy off its back, and John was the easiest of the enemies to get rid of. It caught him with its paw, and smacked him into the canyon wall. John heard a snap, and felt hot pain burn through his arm from the shoulder and down his ribcage. He slid down the wall, dizzy and dazed, trying to catch his breath. The creature lunged at him, but he managed to duck and roll away.

Not far enough. The creature swatted, struck John, and sent him rolling across the ground to end up on his back. He attempted to sit up through the pain, haze, and flashing lights in his eyes. Then a heavy paw slammed into his chest, pinning him to the ground. John cried out from the pain, then ran out of breath to scream when the creature increased the pressure. He felt his ribs begin to give, heard them creak, felt the broken ones grate, and the flashing lights faded into gray that was trying to ooze over his vision. John gritted his teeth against the agony of it, barely aware of the hot breath puffing over his chest and spilling across his neck.

He was aware of what was coming next.

 _Noooo, please no, not again..._ He choked out a sob, and felt one hot tear slide down his face.

The tongue snaked out and slid across John's throat. John closed his eyes, and allowed the remaining air in his lungs to sigh away.

 _Oh well._ He really would have rather died in some sort of crash – plane, maybe puddlejumper... Can't pick them all, he supposed.

The tongue pulled back from John's neck abruptly, and John's eyes snapped open to the angered howl that seemed to push against him. The increasing weight on his chest vanished, and air cold but sweet flowed into his lungs. He gasped it in like he was sucking down water, even ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest. When he lifted his unsteady head to see what had become of his death bringer, he saw the beast rearing up and snapping in a wild-abandon attempt to chase off the cloud of iarets surrounding it from above. Iarets were flocking in from all over – and in all sizes - diving and darting in at different directions, going for weak spots, exposed spots, anything they could. One got the beast by the back leg and pulled, sending the beast crashing to the ground. Another went for its front leg but had to pull back when the hell hound's jaws snapped within centimeters. Chunks of flesh were ripped from its flanks, belly, haunches, legs, and even its neck. The hound managed to grab an iaret and was about to feed when another took a mound of the beast's flesh and pulled it off, letting the grounded iaret escape.

John watched it all in a kind of wide-eyed daze, horrified yet fascinated. It took a moment for his muddied brain to finally register – Now was his chance.

Pain and exhaustion made John slow in his motions. He rolled to his chest, and struggled with grimaces and grunts to his hands and knees, and that was as far as he could go. He was tapped out of the strength needed to get to his feet. So he turned on his hands and knees – more like hand and knees, with one arm cradled to his chest – and hobbled like a three legged dog toward the thrashing creature, the blade of the stick scraping across the ground.

The hound got another iaret under it, and gaped readying the mandibles to feed. John was close enough, so reared onto his knees and lashed at the creature's face. The hound jerked its head back, and the other iarets swarmed in to attack the hound's head, giving the downed iaret a chance to wriggle free and fly off. The iarets were tearing and attacking at a rate that was slowing the hound's healing down. So John scooted back a little and waited. Flesh flew, black blood flew, and soon the hell hound was having a hard time staying up.

Eventually, it stayed down, still struggling, fighting the good fight, just losing miserably. John fought himself to rise to his feet. His legs shook beneath him, his head swam, blood soaked his shredded shit making it stick, and pain flowed through him like magma. He lurched drunkenly toward the beast and altered course just enough to be behind its head. The iarets had the beast pinned, and the beast snapped and raged with roars and bellows. John lifted his blade above his head in his shaking hand. When the beast's head next slammed to the ground, and the neck presented itself, John swung down putting every last molecule of strength he had left into that one motion. The blade bit deep into the neck with a liquid thwack, the creature howled, but it wasn't good enough. So John yanked it out and raised it again. He dropped the blade, and it sunk deeper. He did it again, and again, faster and faster, dropping to his knees when his legs gave out. The blade hacked the flesh into hamburger, flinging bits of flesh and blood everywhere. Each thunk was sickeningly wet, until John heard the even more sickening crunch of bone. So he hacked even harder, chopping through that bone.

The creature's howls had stopped, as had its motions, and yet John still chopped and the iarets attacked. It wasn't until the blade hit stone when it severed through the last of the flesh that he stopped. The hell hound's head rocked back and forth on the ground, leaking black blood from both ends, with the worm-like tongue lolling from the mouth leaving a trail of slime on the stone.

With nothing left to be cautious against, the iarets swarmed like flies on a carcass. John heard ripping, and the snap and crunch of bones. It was a vacant, hollow noise that made his ears buzz and his head swim. He felt himself swaying, and found it rather pleasant. He finally fell with enough sense to slow the descent toward the end to keep his skull from cracking on the ground. He rolled onto his back since it hurt less, and stared up into the star pricked sky.

This was definitely the plan that had killed him, and he found that it wasn't so bad. He'd been quite certain it would have ended with him getting sucked dry. At least he could appreciate an end that didn't involve that agony, and he sighed in contentment.

The ripping, snapping, and crunching ended. John rolled his head to see the after math, and saw nothing but the hell hound's lifeless head. The body was gone, and its only remnant was a horse-sized stain of black blood in the rock. John then felt a rush of cold air and heard the heart-like beating of wings. He heard chirps and croaks, then felt something soft nuzzle his hand. Another fuzzy snout attempted to prod his broken arm, but backed off when Sheppard screamed. The iarets chirped and croaked in agitation, but they didn't attack and try to rip him to pieces. They wouldn't attack the one who feeds them.

John felt tired, so tired even this strange place didn't seem bad for a nap. He blinked his heavy eyelids that he struggled against though he wasn't sure why. He saw a smaller iaret land before him, and recognized the color and the collar. John smiled.

" H-H-hey R-Ris..." he breathed. He wanted to move his arm to pet the little iaret that kept twitching its head to regard him, but he couldn't. John's eyes slid closed. The last thing he felt was the brush of fuzz against his hand, and warm, fuzzy bodies pressing in around him. He felt warm, and thought that this wasn't such a bad way to die.

TBC...


	24. OffWorlder

Thin fingers of mist wrapped around Maj's ankles when she kicked through the thin veil that would thicken by sunrise. She swept the beam of her electric torch over the ground Ris led her across. The mini-iaret was a bundle of agitation, trotting back and forth, chirping, hopping, and flapping about. Maj was huffing and puffing just to keep up, and could hear the heavy breaths of her nephew and the three other men of the village behind her. They trudged up the rocky incline leading to the cliffs. The noise of the iarets was loud but not urgent. Something had happened here, but it was over now.

Maj picked her way carefully onto the bluff then onto the path that wound down into the ravine. Gidel kept hold of one of her arms as they half-slid and half scuttled down the precarious trail. Maj would occasionally peer over the edge and shine her light down. She saw iarets gathered all over the ravine, clustered together or spread wandering as though keeping watch.

" John!" Maj called. No answer.

It took what felt like an eternity to reach the bottom, and their presence sent many of the iarets scattering into the air, and several others bounding in close but not too close as though expecting food to be tossed to them.

" John!" Maj called again. Her heart beat fast and hard, then even harder when her light flashed off a massive, glittering stain of frozen black blood. She saw claw marks in the stone, and splashes of blood painting the canyon walls and ground. Smears of it, and flecks, most of it black, but a few drops shimmering red.

Then her light whipped over something sticking out from beneath a cluster of curled up iarets. Maj put her hand over her mouth and approached this object that her light revealed to be a boot. When she was within five feet of the cluster, the iarets croaked, rose, and scattered.

Left behind was a monster's head unlike any creature Maj had ever seen, and John's bleeding, shredded body.

Maj's breath caught in her throat. " John!" She ran to him, and dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out to his neck and placing her fingers on the pulse point. John's blood pulsed weakly under her fingers, and Maj released her pent up breath on a sob.

" Oh John," she gasped. His shirt was shredded and blood-soaked, and her light showed her the tissue deep gashes leaking rivulets of blood. She heard heavy footsteps coming toward her, and looked away to see Gidel and the other three men rushing over carrying a blanket between them to use as a stretcher.

" Hurry!" Maj urged. " We need to get him inside."

Maj stood and stepped out of the way for Gidel and the rest to surround John. They spread the blanket out beside him, then crouched and gently lifted John to transport onto the blanket. John neither stirred nor made a sound. The men lifted the corners and edges of the blanket and proceeded to carry John back up the winding path. Maj followed, casting one last look over her shoulder at the smaller stain of red blood already beginning to crystallize in the frigid air.

All throughout the canyon, the iarets returned to their nests and fell silent.

SGA

Sometimes John dreamed, and felt in those dreams. Sensations of floating pleasantly, then of surrounding liquid warmth. Pain interrupted the sensations, making him want to writhe, though he wasn't quite sure if he was. He dreamed of moving, trying to escape the pain, and groaning out or whimpering when he couldn't. Then a calm, gentle voice would shush him, and warm, dry fingers would run through his hair. The voice would say things to him, things he couldn't understand, but didn't really care to. The soothing, quiet tone of the voice was good enough for him, and made the pain bearable.

It made him think about his mom, and wonder if this was her speaking to him. He was dead, after all. So why couldn't he see her? He wanted to, and fought to open his eyes. He heard the glittering chime of music, which drove hard the incentive to see. He struggled and fought, though it spiked the pain as well as made him aware of other aches in his body. Sometimes, the voice cleared, and he heard words, most of them urging him to wake up.

Then, finally, he saw a thin sliver of light that grew as he forced his eyelids apart. Brilliant white light blinded him, and he squinted against it.

 _Heaven?_

Then his sight cleared to reveal to him chimes of various designs swaying and flashing light and colors onto the ceiling and walls. John knew those chimes, as he knew these walls, and blinked slowly in surprise.

 _I'm not dead._

John shifted and the movement made his body throb uncomfortably. In turn, he sucked in a sharp breath that tickled his lungs and turned the aches into pains when his body convulsed in a coughing fit. A warm, dry hand slid behind his neck and lifted his head, and a cup touched his lips, tilting and dribbling cool water into his mouth. John reached out with a trembling hand to try and take the cup to tilt it more. The cup pulled away before he could, and his head was set back onto the pillow.

" That will have to do for now. Can't let you have too much or you'll be sick."

John nodded. He'd heard it before, and experienced it. He turned his head enough to see Maj sitting on the edge of the bed at his hip, staring down at him and giving him a tired smile.

" It's about time you woke up," she said. " You were starting to make me wonder if you've given into laziness."

John smiled just as wearily. " I'm already lazy," he croaked.

Maj's smile became a smirk. " Well, you've certainly fooled me otherwise. How are you feeling? Are you hungry? You've been under for nearly three days and are starting to run a fever. I want to try and snuff it before it turns into anything nasty, which means getting you to eat."

John swallowed uncomfortably and rasped, " Th-three days?"

Maj nodded. " Yes. And don't look so troubled. Three days isn't so bad and your body needed it. You were exhausted and had lost a bit of blood. Those scratches were deep, and most I had to stitch close. Then there's your poor arm. A break near the shoulder joint I had to reset, and your collarbone is broken. And, oh, don't even get me started on your ribs. Terrible mess. I had to reset three and pretty much the whole lot are broken and cracked except for one or two. You were lucky they didn't puncture anything."

Maj's rundown of the injuries made John a little more aware of his body beyond the aches and pains. He felt the soft cloth of bandages around his chest as well as his arm, which seemed to be bound against his body to keep it immobile. He lifted the blanket enough to see himself, yet again, dressed in the over-sized shirt and loose trousers of an invalid. He grinned, and began chuckling softly.

Maj narrowed her eyes at him seriously. " What's so funny?"

John dropped the blanket and sighed. " Your planet is abusive to me."

Maj pursed her lips and shrugged. " It's abusive to most of us. But, yes, there seems to be some unseen force intent on bringing you down. Although your incorrigible nature isn't doing any favors for you either. You shouldn't have faced that beast alone, John."

John ran his fingers along the hem of the blanket. " That's why I lured it to the canyons, so I wouldn't be facing it alone. Those iarets did a good job, they just took their sweet time about it."

Maj placed her hand on John's knee. " We really need to get you home so this world doesn't end up being the death of you."

" Yeah, but then some other planet probably will. Listen, Maj, I'm sorry if I seem to keep diving head first into trouble, but it's second nature for me. Serve and protect goes right on up there with leave no man behind, so I usually don't think twice about it." Or dying, which John had been so certain would happen. There was no high of being alive for him, just a sense of relief that seemed to drain him. He'd been ready to die, he just hadn't wanted to, and he was both reeling and content that he wasn't.

Maj patted his knee, staring at her wrinkled hand. " You've no need to explain it, John," she said. Then didn't say anything else. John wondered with a sinking feeling if Maj had taken momentary refuge in Fiel's room again while he was under. This woman who had taken him in without question kept saving his life, and all John seemed to be doing in return was breaking her heart.

" You know," he said. " What with the wraith dead, the beast gone, and Leyn out of the hair of the town's kids, I think it would be fine for me to call in vacation time and never step outside the door until your pass comes. Wouldn't want some dead branch dropping out of a tree and smashing me in the head just because I decided to go for a walk or something."

That got a small smile to return to Maj's face. " The people of this village owe you a lot. They'd slap a citizenship on you if you asked."

John cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. " Are you saying I should?"

" Oh bleed-it no! I strongly advise against it. But you've no need to worry about keeping watch of your own back. For the past three days I've had a constant river of visitors asking about your well being."

John yawned until his jaw popped, then rubbed the side of his aching face. " It'll be nice to be able to walk down the street and be regarded as something other than the scum of the earth."

" No, you'll just get a gaggle of hero-worshiping boys being led by Dev trailing you. John, you've created little monsters. They're running all over the town playing monsters and heroes, and always arguing over who gets to be 'Mr. Sheppard.' Although it is nice to see the children out and about. The town's been too quiet with them being locked up most of the day so they don't end up vanishing."

John smiled, rubbing both eyes with one hand. Then he frowned, dropping his hand to his side. " Did many people get killed?"

Maj shrugged. " Not really. Those who got inside or were already inside were fine. Thirteen died in all, I think. Most of them Jorsek's men. And though I know you won't ask it, I also know you're thinking it. Jorsek's still alive. But he was put into a cell come the next morning after we found you. Tarl's doing since Jorsek had put the town in danger."

John wanted to laugh but knew it would hurt, so refrained and settled for a satisfied smirk. John was honest when he had said to Jorsek and his now deceased posse that he didn't hold grudges. He didn't, or he would have been spared the grief that was Koyla a long time ago. Grudges came gradually, over time and from a growing accumulation of grievances that made the grudge earned. John felt smug vindication for Jorsek's incarceration, but more than that he felt relieved that Jorsek was securely out of his hair now.

Which meant that – except for the return home part – this whole fiasco was over. John could relaxed, honest to goodness relax. And it felt indescribably wonderful. So wonderful that John's eyelids began to slide close without him.

" So all's well that ends well, huh?" John murmured. He felt Maj pat his knee again.

" You get better, then I'll agree to that."

SGA

Maj had caught the fever soon enough to keep it below raging, but even her healing skills couldn't stop it from running its course. A day after John woke up, the tickle in his lungs had become cotton lining the bottom that he could never completely hack up. And with shattered ribs and sore muscles, all that coughing hurt like hell. It also diminished his appetite so that he could barely handle broth.

But at least he wasn't delusional, which Maj insisted was promising. Should the fever reach the point that John was muttering in tongues and seeing dancing wraith, then she would worry. John felt a little put off by it. He may have hated mother-henning, but the indifference made him feel like a whiner every time he moaned and groaned after a coughing fit.

Then Maj would assure him that he had every right to moan and groan. He'd earned his pain, and therefore a bit of self-pity (though it didn't help that she had put it that way).

John was trying not to cough as Maj unwound the bandages from his arm and chest. John was able to see the hell hound's marks on him, and his mouth twisted in discomfort. The majority of them, even the smaller ones, were stitched, and still looked huge. Once again he marveled over and questioned his continuing existence.

" Ouch," he said, wide-eyed.

Maj gave him a crooked grin. " You should have seen them before I patched you up. You could see right to the bone on some."

John felt another small twinge of self-pity, and a bigger twinge of annoyance. The fever, all the resting he was going to have to do, and the appetite loss would set him back to square one. He was going to lose everything he'd manage to gain back.

 _Full circle. Why can't it involve saving some nice, pretty lady instead of me waking up wrapped up like some mummy no one cared to finish wrapping?_

" I think the pass should be coming in another few days," Maj said. " Three, perhaps. We got a call that the mail's to come early since winter's showing signs of being early itself."

John nodded but said nothing. Three days sounded fair enough. He was anxious to go home, yet at the same time didn't like the prospect that he would never be able to return. He needed to set up sort of scheduling, some plan to meet with Maj on some other world.

He didn't want to have to say good-bye to Maj, and have it be the only good-bye they ever said.

A loud pounding on the door downstairs yanked John from his drowsy reverie, and Maj from her administration of the poultice to the stitched gashes. Maj leaned to set the bowls on the desk, and rose wiping her hands onto her maroon skirt. " That better not be more of those boys wanting to meet you. I already told them..." Maj's voice trailed when she left the room and headed down the stairs. Not long after, John heard the low murmur of voices that soon began to rise.

Footsteps clomped up the stairs. Ris, who'd been napping curled at the foot of the bed, raised his head and chirped.

" You can't do this!" John heard Maj shout, and he stiffened with a pounding heart. Ris pushed himself to his feet and arched his back.

A thick-bodied man in dark blue fatigues and jacket – a man John recognized as having accompanied Tarl to the ruins – stepped into the room tall, straight, and dead-pan.

" John Sheppard," he said in a deep, flat voice. The man's gray-blue eyes were cold and emotionally devoid. " I am to escort you from this house without incident. You must come with me, _now_."

The baleful 'now' actually made John flinch. The small but determined Maj squeezed her way through the solidly built enforcer to stand by John's bed with her arms folded and her expression challenging.

" He's not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about. Why is he under arrest?"

John started, looking from the enforcer to Maj.

" Ma'am, you are in no position to ask questions as you have been harboring an unregistered off-worlder."

John started again, and his heart thudded hard. He looked between Maj and the enforcer, feeling the edges of panic creeping in, but thinking fast enough to know to keep his mouth shut.

Like it helped. The enforcer was fast to lose his patience and faster to move. In three long strides he was by the bed towering over John. Ris hissed and hunched back as though about to pounce when Maj gathered him up into her arms.

The enforcer pulled a small hand-held projectile from the holster at his waist. " Mr. Sheppard, I advise you to do as you are told, and come with me."

Maj, pulled between anger and terror, shook her head stubbornly. " No, you can't do this. He was injured protecting this town and he's ill. He needs time to..."

" Now!" the enforcer barked, and pointed the gun at John.

John looked at Maj. Her anger was waning, and what he saw taking its place broke his heart. Fear, panic, and confusion. In that moment, Maj looked older, smaller, and frail, and John hated seeing it.

Resisting would shatter her. John knew that. So he forced his weary and aching body to move, going one leg at a time. He bit back a wince when pain thrummed around his ribs and through his arm that faltered his attempt to get up. Maj moved to help, but the enforcer beat her to it. He grabbed Sheppard's good arm and pulled him roughly to his feet. John clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.

" A-at least," Maj stammered, " At least let me get him a coat. The cold will make him sicker..."

The enforcer didn't listen, and definitely didn't care. He pulled John along out of the room, then down the stairs and through the open front door. Arctic air hit John before he was even over the threshold, soaking into him like water into a dry sponge, making his muscles pull and his body try to hunch into itself. The tension made the pain intensify. He began shivering from the cold and that pain. He stumbled and for a moment was dragged across the dusty street until he found his footing. He was led past the barn to the other side where three vehicles waited. Two were mini-cars, the other slightly larger like a truck with a compartment on the back – a compartment with a small door and two windows covered by wire mesh.

A prison wagon, and a cramped looking one at that.

Tarl stood before the vehicle parked in front of the prison truck, with his uniformed compatriots spread and ready as though the half-naked, sick, injured man being dragged toward them was actually a threat. Beyond the vehicles, most of the village was gathered with many more trickling in, watching with their expressions gradually inching from curious to confused as their town hero was being yanked along like a petty thug.

The enforcer released John, letting him drop to the ground before Tarl's feet. Tarl looked down at John with cold indifference.

" Mr. Sheppard," he said, and smiled crookedly. " Seems I won't be going home empty handed after all. As part of the investigation, I took the liberty of checking the citizenship status of the members of this village, and I was rather alarmed when I was unable to dig up your identification tag. The good people at the census office were in quite a tizzy trying to find your records. But it seems that someone from the government house had found your name to be somewhat familiar. To make a long story short, it was brought to my attention that one John Sheppard was – in fact – registered... As an off-worlder, and one who was classified as 'rejected' for reentry status."

Not much John could say about that. Even if he had words to respond with, his teeth would have been too busy chattering to form them. The cold was violent against his bare skin, ripping into it more than biting, and it was making it hard for him to breathe.

" Needless to say, Mr. Sheppard," Tarl continued, " You are under arrest."

" No!" John heard Maj cry.

Tarl breathed out a long-suffering sigh. " Please cooperate, Mr. Sheppard. This can go smoothly – as in you come with us without making a scene – and your friend Maj will not be brought up on charges for harboring an unregistered off-worlder. Too much of a hassle, anyways, and I'd rather avoid it."

Even through the pain and debilitating cold, Tarl's words still managed to strike John as being odd. For such a stickler of protocol and investigation, he didn't strike John as the type to just let someone walk.

John didn't have the capacity to resist. Even if he did, for Maj's sake, no matter Tarl's double motives, John would still have complied.

John nodded weakly, and tried to rise. His personal guard helped him none too gently. John couldn't quite get his feet under him, no matter how he scrambled, so was dragged toward the back of the prison wagon. Before being tossed in, he looked up at the gathered crowd. He spotted Arvlan, and Dev and Kari. Both children's eyes went round, then Kari's shimmered with tears that flooded down her face. She pulled from her father and was about to run to John when Arvlan pulled her back.

John looked to the eyes of the adults. Shocked, all of them, a few sad, including Arvlan. Then John was shoved into the compartment of the truck that was too small to stand in or even kneel without his back being curved.

" Please!" he heard Maj cry, and a vice tightened around his chest. " Please, let me give him a coat, please! He's sick, it'll get worse if he's cold. Please...!"

Her cries were overcome by the rumble of the vehicle engine. John forced his aching body to move him to the door and the small wire covered window. The small truck lurched and jolted him as it turned. Maj came into John's sights. She had her arms wrapped tight around the struggling Ris, so didn't have a hand free to cover her mouth or wipe away the tears flowing like rain down her face. Gidel slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her smaller form close into his larger. For once, the big man was wearing an expression – melancholy, and he obviously didn't care if anyone saw it.

John continued to watch as Maj and Gidel shrank away, then vanished behind the wall of bodies formed by the villagers turning to watch the vehicles depart. All granules of strength trickled out of John, and he sank to the floor where he curled up tight to conserve the warmth that wasn't there.

His mind whirled dizzily. It was beyond his reasoning that this was happening, and that he'd been found out, his moment of tranquility shattered in less than a heartbeat. He should have known better than to give into relief. Like letting one's guard down, removing one's flak vest just as the bullet was fired. Then again, had he'd known Tarl was doing backgrounds checks, was there anything John could have done, or Maj? Run into the woods and hide like a fugitive, maybe. Hold up in the ruins...

 _Get real, John. You were screwed the moment you were dragged back to this planet. Probably before then._

John would have pondered the irony of it, and things like karma, Murphy's law, fate, and all that crap, but he was too tired to, and too cold. It was an up and down yo-yo of a battle for him on this world. If he was to die on it, then he would die. Neither would he be all shocked if he didn't. The dice had been rolled, and until they stopped rolling, John wasn't going to figure anything out.

He just wished he hadn't left Maj broken hearted after all.

TBC...


	25. Surprise, Surprise

John had shoved himself into a corner of his little rumbling, jerking, jolting box to block his back from the cold. His front he protected with his arm and drawn up knees. He couldn't lay down, since he could only lay on his back, which made it impossible to bring up his legs.

When it wasn't the injuries inside his body making him hurt, then it was the cold. He trembled from both, and didn't even try to stop the occasional moans or whimpers that exited with his exhales. The cold had also increased the phlegm volume in his lungs, tightening his chest, and doubling the coughs that kept all the pain alive.

Yet he didn't care. He didn't have the means to. Misery was clinging to him like a tic – no, an iratus bug, intent on sucking him dead. And he could have sworn it was laughing at him, then realized the laughter was coming from the driver of the truck after a friend told him some joke that sounded dirty and not all that funny. Then again, John wasn't Iothian.

Somewhere along the line, John figured he must have kept losing consciousness. He could have sworn they never made pit stops, then the next time he awoke he found a thin blanket pooled on the floor at his feet. John took it with a trembling hand and wrapped it around his quaking shoulders. It wasn't much – sparse, rough, and not very large – but it was better than nothing.

The next time John awoke, it was to find himself on his back being pulled from the truck by his good arm and dumped unceremoniously to the ground in an agonized heap. He was then pulled to his feet, and shoved toward the tree line where his personal guard barked at him to relieve himself now or hold it until they arrived at the city. John did so, with an audience. Afterwards, a tin cup was shoved into his hands and he was ordered to drink. The water was bitingly cold, but soothing to his chafed throat going down. Then the cup was yanked from his hands and he was shoved back into the compartment.

This happened again a second time. Minutes, hours and even days were lost to John. His world was the compartment, the pain, the cold, and struggling to take deep enough breaths to satisfy his desperate lungs without inciting a cough riot. Adding misery on top of misery, the stitched gashes all over him were starting to itch and a few burn if he so much as shifted.

He didn't mind dieing all that much, and wished it would happen already so he could get beyond this little sliver of hell.

The next time he awoke, it was to a rather unpleasant smell, like sewage, and bad body oder. He heard voices – shouting and garbled talking. John craned his neck and straightened his body enough to peer out the window on his right above his shoulder. He saw buildings clumped together, and smoke coiling toward the slate smooth gray sky. Then he lost the energy to hold the small position and slumped back down, huddling deeper into the puny blanket.

At least he'd lived to make it this far. That had to be some kind of record. Logically, despite his stubborn nature, John new he should have been dead already. More subconscious stubborn at work.

He awoke again to a pinching grip on his arm and his limpid frame being dragged from the compartment. He struggled just a little attempting to get to his feet just for the sake of it, but really had nothing left to struggle with. It was twilight out, and darkening fast. John's personal enforcer pulled him toward a gray brick building of medium size with a small stoop and double doors. Being dragged up the stairs hurt, especially each time he fell to have his arm nearly ripped from the socket, and he couldn't help the grunts of discomfort.

The enforcer lugged him along through the doors, and the warmth that hit Sheppard made him shudder with relief. Until he was dragged through the large room of desks and cubicles to a door at the back and beyond. The cold returned, as did the foul smell. John was taken down a row of dank, barred cells to the one at the very end, which John thought vaguely odd what with all the other cells being empty. The enforcer dumped him within the cell and stepped back so that Tarl could step forward, who dismissed all present enforcers, leaving only Tarl and John.

John tried to struggle to his hands and knees, and could only manage propping himself up on one elbow.

" My... My people..." John began, only to be uninterrupted by a torrent of coughs that convulsed his frame.

" I know of your people, Lt. Colonel Sheppard."

John finally cleared his lungs enough to catch his breath, and looked blearily at Tarl.

The man was smiling, a smug smile that made John cringe.

" I discovered more than just the fact that you are an off-worlder. But I will not waste my time on the details. Know this, though." Tarl began pacing around John slowly, with small goose-steps. " My government has no intentions of returning you to your people. You've done us a great wrong, Mr. Sheppard. A wrong that we feel warrants the need for punishment. You have interfered in our affairs, and in so doing may have cause irreparable damage."

John's arm shook with the threat of giving out. He tried to fathom what the hell Tarl was talking about, but his mind was drowning in a mire of exhaustion and pain.

 _The weapons? Is this about the weapons we didn't give them?_

Tarl, however, refused to elucidate until realization snapped through the fog in Sheppard's brain. And it did, in a way, though he was only guessing.

" The wraith?" he said, his voice hoarse. " The c-creature?"

Tarl's smile broadened. " More the beast, actually."

John finally dropped to the floor, and heaved out a tired, caustic laugh. " You knew about it. Crap, is that why you really came down? To keep the villagers from killing it?"

" Yes and no. My intent to stop the kidnappings was true. Keeping the villagers from killing the beast was my secondary objective. Well, more preventing the villagers from releasing the beast." Jorsek paused and stared distantly at the storm-gray wall of the cell. " I knew I should have locked that fool Jorsek up. But I digress." The pacing resumed, and John tensed half expecting to get kicked. It was a habitual reaction, because Tarl struck John more as the type to inflict mental torment to appease his superiority complex than to go for the physical and show off brute strength

" Yes, my superiors know of the beast," Tarl said. " I came to know of them when I reached my position as inspector. It's not exactly information you want publicly shared, not if you don't want fools running off with projectiles in hand, intent on hunting the very creatures keeping us safe."

John furrowed his brow. " H-how do you know about them? You don't even know squat about the wraith except for what off-worlders tell you."

Tarl shrugged. " I don't know all the details. Supposedly there's some book that makes mention of them, a diary or some such as, with an entry talking of when the writer witnessed one of these beasts killing a wraith. Carcasses of these beasts have been found, bones, wraith as well, over time or so I've been told. All locked behind tight lips, of course. The government isn't very forthcoming on the matter since it would only cause panic. There is a team that is supposedly expert in these creatures, and have even tracked a few, including the one formerly a resident of 443."

Tarl stopped, and spun to face Sheppard. " And according to this team, the beast you killed may have very well been the last of its kind."

John snorted. " I can verify that."

" Yes, well, needless to say, we are very much in trouble should the wraith discover this."

" But they won't," John said. " The wraith left to kill that last monster died before it could. The wraith'll never know these beasts are gone."

Tarl opened his mouth, But John jumped in before he could speak.

" And I'm not going to go yapping about it all over the universe. I've got friends on this world I'd rather not find lying on the ground prematurely aged. If you see me as some kind a of a threat concerning your secret, then you're wrong. It's not like I'm a citizen of this world. I get questioned by the wraith, the only questions I'll get'll be ones concerning my world. I'm not a danger to Ioth, Tarl, so you don't need to keep me locked up."

Tarl smiled again. " Oh, I wasn't intending to. I was just told to keep you from returning to your people since they were so keen on learning why our world was exempt from wraith interests."

John coughed hard then grimaced as he rode out the waves of cramping pains. " Yeah," he groaned, " and a fat lot of good your extinct wraith mutts will do us. Crap, your government's paranoid. Is that why you didn't arrest Maj? Because prosecuting her'll bring attention to the existence of these wraith monsters?"

Tarl folded his hands behind his back and began rocking on his heels. " Smart man, Mr. Sheppard. Maj is quite safe thanks to this secret. You, on the other hand... Well, let's just say that things will be getting worse for you."

John lifted his head from the smooth, cold floor, glaring hatred and fury at Tarl who's smile seemed a permanent fixture to his face.

" You son of a bitch. That monster would have killed that entire village if I hadn't killed it."

" A small price to pay in the grand scheme of things."

John coughed spraying threads of saliva on the floor. " Until it went to some other village and killed, then another and another, maybe even making a detour for the city. That's the problem with prices like that. They accumulate interest over time. Twenty of those monsters wiped out a thousand wraith, and wraith are harder to kill than cockroaches. Up against us measly, weak humans, I would give it a year before that monster had your population down to fifteen. Not to sound full of myself, but I saved your guys' ass." John lowered his head back to the floor. " Sorry you're too narrow minded to realize it."

Tarl shrugged. " Or perhaps it is merely a difference of opinion. Rest while you can, Sheppard. The Genii will come for you soon, and Ioth will have washed its hands of you. The Genii seemed quite urgent about finding you. I imagine nothing pleasant in the near future for you when they do."

Tarl turned on his heels and exited the cell. The door whined shut and the lock clicked into place.

John's heart stumbled in his chest.

 _The Genii? Koyla?_ Anger waltzed with dread. _Please no. Not again._

John curled into himself, shaking from the cold, the pain, and the terror tightening around his throat. Death was no longer a prospect, it was a necessity, and John closed his eyes, begging it to come. He thought of his team, wondered if they had been searching for him, which he knew they would have been. Probably still were, which meant they were out there, within reach, but beyond sight and sound. They weren't going to be finding him.

 _Sorry guys._

He thought of Maj, who saved him for no reason other than she thought him a good person.

 _Sorry Maj._

John let the tears pricking behind his eyelids squeeze out and fall to the dusty, putrid floor.

 __

John had lost consciousness again. He jerked awake when the whine and clunk of a heavy door reverberated to him like a blast to his ringing ears. His head was throbbing, as though small sledgehammers were pounding to the rhythm of his heart, tenderizing his brain to mush. He sucked in a rattling breath, and released it in a fit of body shaking coughs.

" Down here."

John wanted to lift his head, to look Koyla in the eye with defiance, which was all he had right now. Footsteps moved quick down the corridor between the cells. John's defiant moment was snatched from him when agonizing coughs made him squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn't get any air in or even cough any more out. His lungs tightened, his back arched, and the hand of his good arm clawed the air as he struggled to recapture his breath.

A warm, soft hand grabbed his. The shock of human contact ripped through him, and his body remembered how to breathe. He sucked it a rasping breath that barely satisfied but restarted the cycle of breathing. The hand in his tightened, and an arm slid below his neck, gently lifting him. His head was lowered onto a solid but pliable surface that was distantly familiar to him.

" Colonel?"

That voice was even more familiar, and John forced his eyelids apart. The face that swam into focus made his breath catch and his heart leap.

 _Teyla?_

SGA

They had almost brushed the enforcer off. When Teyla, Lorne, Ronon and Stewart had returned to the inn, the young officer in the blue fatigues had been waiting for them.

" We believe we may have your man in custody, but need your presence to identify him."

All four of them had been tired, and inches away from dismissing the young man by telling him that this could wait until tomorrow, except it couldn't. It never could, not even with the leads that took them nowhere. After countless days of searching medical facilities, morgues, and structures used by the city's countless homeless, hope had begun to dim like a candle moving away into the distance.

They had to force themselves to follow the officer, and had been hesitant about it before then. A ride had been provided in the form of the electric vehicles, which was a pleasant change. They were taken to an enforcer station, and Teyla and the rest had listened patiently as the chief of that station explained how the man had been found by an inspector sent to a village to ascertain and remedy a situation there. The man had been unregistered as an Iothian, but registered as an off-worlder. They were then led to the back of the station and through the door.

Teyla had moved quickly. Hope always sparked a little brighter when they reached their destination where Sheppard was supposedly sighted. She heard strangled coughing, and her steps increased. The enforcer had to run to keep up with her.

She had reached the cell, and the enforcer could not open it fast enough.

It had been like a dream, too slow and too clouded, one that Teyla was barely waking up from even now as she knelt on the floor with Colonel Sheppard's head resting in her lap. She still had hold of his hand, and with the other she ran it over his head, grounding her presence for him, and his presence for her. Tears slid down her face, a mix of joy and sorrow.

They had found Sheppard exactly as they had feared; thin, bruised, broken, and sick. These people had left him half-naked in this frigid cell. There were stitched gashes all over his body, parallel, like claw marks. Single cuts almost healed, and scabbing abrasions on his wrists. He'd been injured, then healed, then injured again and barely surviving it. Each of John's breaths were noisy and shallow, a struggle that made Teyla's own breaths continually catch whenever his did. Heat poured off him, and even in the cold sweat dripped from him. And he shook, he shook so hard Teyla was surprised he didn't fly apart.

Teyla looked up and over her shoulder at Ronon standing right behind her towering protectively. He was staring dangerously in the direction of the enforcer talking with Lorne.

" There's some paperwork to fill out..." the man was saying. Lorne nodded. He was playing at patience that was slipping according to the increasing tension in his body.

" Yeah, could you get that ready for us," he said at last. " We're gonna need a few minutes with Sheppard. Make sure he's not gonna die on us before it's time."

" I could call in a healer if you want?"

Lorne patted the man's shoulder, then pushed him toward the cell-block door. " Yeah, you do that."

The man walked off, and Lorne entered the cell, tapping his radio.

" Daedalus this is Major Lorne. We have Sheppard, so get us the hell out of here. Straight to the infirmary."

Ronon moved around Teyla and bent to scoop the shivering Colonel into his arms, holding him close. Lorne and Stewart moved in closer, and Teyla rose to stand beside Ronon. A flash of white, a second-long sensation of cold, and stone floors became metal. Ronon moved straight to the nearest infirmary bed and carefully laid Sheppard's battered body on the clean, soft surface. He stepped back just as Beckett and his team swarmed around the Lt. Colonel, with Beckett shouting instructions and for needed items. An oxygen mask was placed over Sheppard's face and a sheet over the lower half of him before they removed the flimsy pants.

" Sheppard?"

Teyla pulled her attention from John to Rodney attempting to struggle his way out of bed, two beds away from where Beckett was attending to Sheppard. Teyla hurried over and pressed her hands into the physicist's shoulders, but Rodney fought against it. Even a fierce Ronon coming up beside Teyla didn't deter him.

" Let me go! I gotta see him!"

" Dr. McKay, Dr. Beckett is taking care of him. You must lie back down."

Ronon folded his arms. " You know the doc'll let you see him when he's done. You'll just get in the way otherwise. So wait. Besides, you can see him from here."

Both he and Teyla turned their heads. A gap opened up in the wall of medical personnel that allowed Rodney to see Sheppard from across the beds. The physicist's face went chalk white, and he stuttered.

" What the hell happened to him! What's wrong with him? Are those stitches? Wait, are those _scratches_? They're freakin' huge! Is he having trouble breathing? He looks like he's having trouble breathing. What the hell is Carson doing for that? Maybe he needs a tube down his throat..."

Ronon shook his head, and Teyla placed her hand on Rodney's shoulder and patted it. The physicist rambled on as Beckett and his team worked to get Sheppard settled. The babbling eventually petered out as they became caught up it what they were normally unable to witness. Most of it was was hidden when the staff closed in filling the gap. A portable X-ray machine was rolled in, used, and rolled out. Sterile wipes and cotton gauze soaked in dirt and dried blood dropped to the floor piling like litter after a festival.

Teyla didn't try to decipher the murmuring but thought she caught words like sutures and infections, and was certain her ears had become trained to catch such words over the years. Tone of voice too – There was no urgency in Beckett's voice. Whoever had tended to John's injuries must have done a good enough job to cut Carson's efforts in half.

" Where did you find him?" Rodney's voice made Teyla jump. She glanced at the physicist, who appeared riveted but not liking it on the proceedings across the way.

Teyla looked at Ronon, unsure if McKay should hear the details. Ronon just shrugged.

 _He's going to hear about it sooner or later._

" In a prison," Teyla said.

Rodney slumped back into his pillow wearing a scowl to make Ronon proud. And it did. The Satedan arched an eyebrow in surprise.

" I knew it," Rodney growled. " They had him the whole time. Probably debating over whether or not to use him in a trade for weapons."

" They said he was found in some village," Ronon said. " Brought him to the city because he was unregistered."

Rodney looked at Ronon askance, then rolled his eyes. " Great. I see a tale worthy of the exploits of Captain Kirk in the near future. I think I'll start a pool. My money's on a dark haired milkmaid."

" I vote on blond," Ronon said.

Teyla scowled at the both of them, and it was enough to silence them fast. Rodney looked down at his hands in abashment.

" Right, too soon, sorry. I was just... Well you know how I get in situations... like these. Sometime I find a little consolation in being an ass. It's a coping mechanism thing. You know, you've seen it before."

Teyla softened. She had. Rodney wore abrasiveness like armor, and the darker the situation, the thicker the armor.

Rodney shook his head. " With wounds like that, you already know he wasn't having a good time." He looked up at Teyla, and his eyes seemed to be pleading, asking yet not wanting to know the answer. " You found him like that? All..." he twirled his hand, " cut up like that, in a prison? No hospital?"

Teyla nodded sadly. Rodney's fist clenched, and slammed down on the mattress as he looked away. " Freakin' bastards."

More time drifted by and the team just watched, content enough just to be able to. Sheppard was clean, and bandages were wrapped around his chest and arm, pinning his arm to his chest to remain immobile for the duration of healing. The bandages nearly vanished against John's skin except where it was splotched in bruises. Beckett and the nurses handled Sheppard's body like a limp doll made of glass, and worked as one setting him back down against the pillows when they finished with the bandages.

Beckett snapping his gloves from his hand made Teyla jump. A nurse was left to disinfect the lesser wounds, and Carson tossed the gloves into a trashcan by the bed before turning and jumping himself on seeing John's team clustered two beds away.

" Have you been here the whole bloody time?" he asked in wide-eyed surprise. Ronon nodded in answer. Carson reared his head back. " And no one's given you a post check?"

Ronon shook his head, which made Carson's shoulders slump.

" I am so bloody sorry. Got a little caught up in the moment when you brought the Colonel in. Thought for sure the poor lad was going to need surgery. Where's the Major?"

They all glanced around in search of Lorne, and found him talking to Caldwell next to the med-bay entrance, Stewart with him.

" Good. Let's get this underway then," Carson said, and pulled his stethoscope from his neck.

Ronon stiffened. " Can we see Sheppard first?"

Carson looked over his shoulder, then back to Ronon. " Nothing new to see up close than you can from here. After your check."

" Will he be all right?" Teyla asked.

Carson pressed his lips into a hard line. " Hard to say so soon. He's got a fever that's been kept at bay some thanks to the Colonel's decreased body temperature, but that could easily change. His body's a bloody right mess that could have been worse if someone hadn't already started treatment. Numerous broken ribs, a break below the shoulder and in the collarbone, some malnutrition, dehydration, near hypothermia, and other such little nasties. And of course infections with a few of the cuts trying to go septic. Recovery's going to be a right bumpy road for him I can tell ya now. Whatever happened to him must not have been a one time ordeal either. I found older wounds beneath the new, and already don't like the possible story behind the injuries on his wrists. The lad's got a tale to tell and I don't think the tellings going to go down easy."

They all looked to Sheppard now open for view with the rest of the nurses finally gone. The regular beep of the heart monitor became the only sound in the room, until Carson's voice joined it when he placed on his stethoscope.

" All right my bairns, let's get this wee debacle over with..."

SGA

Be vociferous about something enough times, and demands get met without them ever having to be voiced afterwards. Sheppard's bed was moved, switched with the empty bed that had been next to Rodney's. Carson said it was for two reason – to keep the bed on the end clear for any new arrivals, and the bigger reason of being able to have a familiar face nearby for when Sheppard woke up.

" Glad to see we're on the same page, then," Rodney said, smug that he didn't have to put the realization in Carson's head concerning what needed to be done. It was a short lived self-satisfaction when Rodney realized that Sheppard's waking could involve blood-curdling screams and panic attacks. Delusions of battle right in the heat that would ignite John into becoming a torrential killing machine. The pilot could be emaciated with toothpick arms and legs, and in that state of mind still be able to snap Rodney's neck like an actual toothpick.

Not that it had ever happened, or more accurately come quite that close to it, but only because at the time Rodney hadn't been in the same room or within reach. He had walked in toward the end of quite a few delusional moments over time, and had found it ridiculous that it had taken Beckett, five nurses, and two brawny male marines to get a twiggy and sickly Sheppard back into bed. It was amazing they hadn't broken anything else on that breakable looking body.

Sheppard could out-stubborn a mule and out-violence a missile, and that kept Rodney on guard for changes in the beat of the monitor.

The finger of Rodney's right hand moved rapidly over the cursor pad of his laptop, and the other hovered over the keys.

" Where are you you little piece of crap?" he murmured. This was the part where he always died.

 _And always because of that damn..._ A skinless, bloody zombie dog popped out of the shadows, and Rodney's heart felt like it had popped in reaction.

Rodney threw his hands up. " Son of a...! Crap! Stupid...! Why did I let Sheppard talk me into playing this stupid game! ' _Play_ Resident Evil _, Rodney, it's totally awesome!'_ Gah! This stupid game's going to kill me before the wraith ever do." He tapped his finger against the side of the laptop, then hit the keys that restarted the game from where he last saved. He was going to get past that dead dog, and hopefully blow its head off in the process.

 _And won't that be sweet. Damn, I'm starting to sound like Sheppard._

Rodney glanced over at the prostrate colonel and his mask obscured face. Sheppard's forehead was creased with either lines of pain or lines of confusion. The laptop almost slid from Rodney's lap when he flinched in realization that Sheppard was showing signs of consciousness – not the awake kind, just the 'not in a coma' kind. Rodney flicked his tongue over his lips nervously and searched the Daedalus infirmary for either a nurse or Carson. He saw neither, so looked back at Sheppard.

John's head was moving slightly as though he were trying to find a more comfortable position without moving his body. The muscles of his forehead sharpened the creases.

" 'S quiet." If it hadn't have been, Rodney wouldn't have heard John speak. Rodney set his laptop on the cart beside him and leaned in toward John a little.

" Sheppard," Rodney hissed. " Hey Sheppard!"

Rodney saw motion beneath the covers where John's hand slid out to tug weakly at the edges of the blanket trying to pull them to his chin. It was a depressing endeavor to observe as the blankets kept slipping out of John's languid fingers. Rodney grew irritated by the effort, and slid from the warmth of his own covers to quietly pad over to John and pull the covers up for him. And John still shivered.

" 'S cold. Stove needs... More wood... Maj?"

Rodney didn't know where the extra blankets were stashed, so confiscated the blanket from the bed next to Sheppard and draped it across the overly lean body.

" I don't know what century your fever warped you back to – or movie – but we're a little above and beyond wood burning stoves. And who the hell is Maj? Your milk maid savior?"

John's eyes flew open and he gasped. His vacant eyes darted around frantically, his head lifting a little off the pillow, until his sights landed and froze on McKay.

" Rodney?" Sheppard's tone was as freaked as his expression, as though he were seeing something that wasn't supposed to be there. His breathing rate increased, along with his heart-rate according the the monitor. John lifted his convulsive hand and almost hesitantly – nervously – started extending it toward Rodney's face.

" Um," Rodney uttered watching the hand tersely until it finally registered just to take it before any of the slender fingers had a chance to poke him. For a body that was supposed to be radiating enough heat to create its own mirage, Sheppard's hand was ice-cold in Rodney's grip. " Yeah, Sheppard, it's me. You're all right... _We're_ all right. All safe, sound, and snug on the good ship Daedalus."

The heart monitor climbed back down to its original beat, and John's breathing declined with it with his head lowering back to the pillow. But his eyes were still wide – shocked – as they moved off of Rodney to rove around their surroundings a second time.

" You... found me?"

He sounded surprised, and Rodney felt a little affronted about it.

" Well yeah. What, did you think we were just going to leave you...?"

" Alive?"

He sounded even more dumbfounded, as though each breath and each heartbeat were supposed to be the impossibility. That Rodney got, and it made his gut clench and his throat close off. Sheppard had been dumped in a cold cell half-naked, injured, hungry, and ill, and no one could say how long he'd been in that condition before being brought to the prison. Long enough to face the facts that death was inevitable. Worse than that, long enough to actually _hope_ for death?

John's head rolled back to facing Rodney. He just stared at McKay in an exhausted, expressionless way, until his face shifted and Rodney saw the tired smile under his mask, and caught the shimmer of moisture brimming at the bottom edge of his eyes.

" Thank... you," he whispered, and his eyes slid back shut.

Rodney chewed his lip uncomfortably. He hadn't found Sheppard. Yes, he knew Sheppard meant 'you' as in Atlantis 'you', the team 'you', it just twisted him that he couldn't include himself as part of that 'you'. He was caught between wanting to feel like scum and wanting to rage at Carson for not cutting him a break and letting him out a little early. Rodney had wanted to be there when John was found.

Although... on the other hand – as Rodney actually took the time to think about it while watching Sheppard's thin, sleep-slack face that had smoothed out of its tension – he was here now, and Sheppard's face was tension free because of him. And Rodney usually enjoyed that a lot more than being present during the moment of discovering Sheppard in his blood-caked, bruised, starved, horror-movie aftermath state of being.

 _Okay, I won't complain, spare Carson this round._

Rodney patted John's hand. " You're welcome."

TBC...


	26. Home

John heard sounds that were familiar but he didn't really want to hear. He had wanted to hear the chimes, and let his mind wander to where ever the sounds took him before giving into consciousness and the discomfort that always followed. Okay, so he was being picky, but he was really missing those chimes.

On a deeper, almost child-like level, he was missing the memories they conjured, of his mother, and the days when she was still in his life.

 _Beggars can't be choosers, John._

And John was definitely not one to beg. He shoved the melancholy aside, and focused on the sounds that though harsh and sterile, were still appreciated. John took a deep breath through his nose where cool oxygen flowed from a cannula, stopped on a wince when his chest cramped, and released a slow and shuddering exhale through his mouth. Then he opened his eyes.

" About time."

John blinked away the film and rolled his heavy head in the direction of the irate voice. He had to blink away more film before McKay's fuzzy form solidified. John was a little surprised to see Rodney in a bed next to his rather than a chair or stool. McKay was propped up, dressed in white scrubs with his laptop open and his fingers dancing over the keys.

" What..." John rasped before dry air tickled his dry throat and he started convulsing with coughs. Rodney moved fast and almost fluidly setting aside the laptop to swing his legs from the bed and slip onto the floor. He grabbed a pitcher of water and poured it into a clear plastic cup with a straw, then moved the straw within reach of John's mouth. John lifted his head enough to get to the straw and sipped. The water was short lived heaven going down his parched throat until Rodney pulled the cup away.

" Over do it and I'll be the one Carson sticks for numerous, pointless inoculations."

The effort of lifting his head off the pillow an inch left John breathless, and he dropped his head back onto the pillow.

" Thanks," he whispered, then recalled his question that was never completed. He looked the outwardly healthy Rodney up and down. " What happened to you?"

Rodney set the cup down so he could lift his shirt and show-off the bandage taped to his midsection just below the floating rib. " Had an unfortunate run-in with one of your kidnappers and a chair hosting a colony of alien germs. Although my fever can't compare to the one that got you to thrash around until I nearly gave into the belief of demon possession, it was unpleasant enough to keep me around and you with continuous company. But of course you have to decide to wake up one day before Carson was going to release me. One sided conversations are only entertaining for so long."

John moved his eyes and head to take in his surroundings. Alien mixed with human tech, and water-filled pillars – Atlantis.

" How long?" John asked. It took too much out of him to articulate anything longer.

Rodney leaned with both hands on the railing of John's bed. " How long have we been home or how long have you been under?"

" Both."

Rodney shrugged. " Took us three days to get home on the Daedalus and except for the one time you momentarily graced the infirmary with your presence while remaining sane... All together you've been out of it for a week and a day."

John pulled his trembling hand out from under the blankets to rub the space between his eyes, and sighed. " Suppose it's better than being under a month."

" Your attempt at staying positive isn't fooling anyone. It also doesn't fit with your current appearance. You look like something my cat chewed up and spit out."

John grinned and chuckled wearily. " Rodney, you're so kind..." His chuckling ended with a hiss of pain pulsing all over his chest. He placed his hand lightly over his sternum. " Shouldn't I be healing... by now?"

" Carson says healing'll take a little more time thanks to an infection that was kicking your ass pretty good." Rodney fell silent for a moment, a long moment that might have been a record for the physicist.

" What happened to you?" McKay's tone was soft, as though he hadn't really wanted to ask the question. In fact, he pulled his hands away from the rail, and backed up to his own bed. " You know what? Never mind. Tell it later. Carson's going to walk in and'll just put a stop to it, then chew me out." Rodney pulled himself back into his own bed and picked up his laptop. John stared at him.

Rodney had dropped the subject. Since when does he ever drop a subject unless someone makes him?

" Rodney?" John said. " You all right?"

" Irrelevant question, Colonel. I'm the one getting out of here tomorrow. You're the one in here until you finally drive Carson into a new profession."

" I wasn't talking physically, McKay. You're acting kind of... different."

Rodney lifted one shoulder. " I'm entitled to it. Maybe I'm just tired."

John knew it was a bunch of crap, but was too tired to dig through McKay's blatant avoidance. He felt himself starting to slip back into unconsciousness, and decided to just let himself.

" I'm sorry we didn't find you sooner."

John snapped his eyes back open and rolled his head toward Rodney. McKay was still, and staring at a point above his laptop. His finger was tapping rapidly against the side. John momentarily closed his eyes and breathed out an exasperated sigh.

" Rodney... Don't. Please don't. Sooner or later... You were looking, obviously never stopped, you found me, the end. You guys always find me. Yeah, maybe I get a little impatient about it sometimes like say when a wraith is dining on me... But you found me then too. And you found me again, alive, and I'm going to be all right. So don't waste your time apologizing for what you don't need to apologize for. So what if it took a while? It wasn't so bad... Most of the time..."

Rodney slapping his hands together made John flinch.

" I knew it!" McKay crowed, and gave John a tight, rather unnerving smile while pointing a finger at him. " That Maj you kept mumbling about. What was she, a blond, brunette, red-head?"

John wrinkled his brow. " Huh?"

" Maj! You kept calling for someone named Maj to put wood in the stove and ask when it was lunch. Delirious crap. But you _were_ saved by some back-woods babe. I knew it! Come on, spill it. What did she look like?"

John made his eyes go heavy lidded. " Gray-haired and sixty."

Rodney took a breath to say something, then released it sharply, dropping his smug smirk into a frown. " What?"

John held up his shaky hand. " Don't even go into any scenarios concerning cradle robbing, Rodney. It was beyond not being like that. Maj was nothing more than an old lady with a lot of heart who found me half-dead on the streets, took me home, healed me, and pretty much took care of me..." John looked beyond Rodney as he thought back. " Like a grandmother would. Or... someone's mom. Actually she was someone's mom, but he died." John returned to the now, and stared long and hard at McKay. " She's a good person, McKay. The kind that reminds you that good people can exist anywhere. She didn't even know who I was and she saved my life anyways. So don't _even_ think about making some crack concerning pulling a Kirk on little old ladies. Maj doesn't deserve that."

Rodney had the decency to look slightly abashed. " Oh... Sorry."

John breathed deep and shuddered with exhaustion. " You assume to much, Rodney... About me."

Rodney shrugged. " Well... It's just – you know – hero complexes and all. Makes me think in the cliché and that women are always drawn to the hero types."

John's eyes were sliding close with or without him. " They're drawn to the smart ones too, Rodney," he breathed. " Smart with hero complexes. Don't sell yourself short... You'll come across your back woods babe savior one of these days." John managed a small, temporary grin. " Or kindly old lady."

" After what you just said about this Maj," Rodney said. " I wouldn't mind either one... though I'd prefer the babe..."

John's mind drifted away nestled safe on the back of familiarity.

SGA

John's quaking arm moved slow on lifting the light cup of broth to his mouth and taking a sip. It was chicken flavored, and heated enough to be strongly warm without scalding his throat on the way down. He lowered the cup back to the tray when he was done, but kept his hand wrapped around it so the warmth would soak into his palm and up his arm. The infection-born fever had stripped him of a few more pounds, and even with enough blankets piled thick enough to crush him, cool air still found chinks to squeeze through and make him shiver.

" I led the beast down into the canyon," he said. " And the iarets... flying dinos I told you about... distracted the thing enough for me to take it down. Not without consequences, obviously."

" You'd have to be bloody blind for it not to be obvious," Carson muttered. He was standing at the head of John's bed, watching him less like a hawk and more like a mother bear standing over a cub. Beckett had been reluctant about John reiterating his story to the point that he had nearly adamantly denied it. Coherency wasn't full recuperation, and Beckett fretted over John's retelling causing him distress and setting him back.

John, however, wanted to get his tale off his chest, and won by pointing out how keeping it bottled up was probably causing just as much distress as telling it would.

John's team, along with Elizabeth and Caldwell, were gathered around his bed either in seats or standing, and listening intently without interruptions. Even Rodney was keeping his own mouth in check. Or more like Ronon was, who kept shooting dark looks at the physicist whenever his mouth started to open.

" Maj found me," John continued. " Brought me back, healed me... _again_. A couple of days after, Tarl found out who I was and arrested me. And the rest you know."

They did know. Ronon looked ready to whack off some heads, and Teyla had become melancholy. Rodney, Elizabeth, and even Caldwell looked shocked.

" My gosh," Rodney breathed. " That planet really was out to get you."

" That explains the abrasions," Carson said with his brow lowered shadowing his eyes. He looked almost as pissed as Ronon, and just as ready to do a little beheading of his own. He pushed off from leaning against the bed to straighten with agitation. " Bloody vicious bastards. There's got to be something bloody wrong in the head with a man cruel enough to string up another man and inflict pain like that. Someone aught to have strung him up. That Tarl fellow too. Bloody jack-ass. Somethin' wrong with him too, lettin' you freeze and suffer like that. It's cruel, it's... bloody sadistic!"

John smiled slightly. " Maj would have liked you, doc. Jorsek didn't get away with anything he did. He was tossed in the brig for opening up the ruins."

Rodney shifted in his seat and smirked. " And that Tarl guy's probably pulling teeth over the disappearance of the Genii and the lack of a reward."

John nodded. " We're just going to have to settle for that."

" One thing I don't get, though," Caldwell said. " If there was a wraith on that planet, then why didn't Teyla sense it?"

Rodney snapped his fingers. " Yeah. I know you said you sensed something..."

Teyla inclined her head. " I did, like wraith and yet not like a wraith. I now believe it to have been this monster Sheppard killed."

" So then why hadn't you sensed the wraith too?" Rodney asked.

" The creature's presence was very strong," Teyla replied, " though I did not know what it was."

John nodded. " Those wraith dogs were a hell of a lot tougher than the wraith. And more ravenous. It could have been pushing its presence on you trying to seek you out, Teyla."

Tyela's eyes widened with realization. " That would explain the nightmares I had while on that planet. If you are correct, and the beast was seeking me out through my mind, it may have blocked my reception toward the wraith, making me unable to sense him."

Rodney shrugged. " Makes sense... I guess."

" It's going to have to," said Elizabeth. " Now that these beasts are destroyed, we'll probably never know."

" Unless the wraith get daring and try again," John said. " But I doubt it. I think they've learned their lesson about going two for two." He looked down at his now luke warm broth, with no desire to finish off the rest.

" Ya done, lad?" Carson said, already reaching for the cup. John nodded and Carson took the broth. Beckett looked into the cup and pursed his lips. " A little better today. Tomorrow we'll go for a little something extra like tomato or chicken noodle, see how ya fair with it."

John nodded his heavy head, then shifted trying to stretch his back without instigating any protest from his bound arm and busted ribs. It didn't work, and he ended up grimacing all the same. The effort also drained him – coupled with all the talking – and it apparently showed when Beckett stepped forward and began chasing the others out of the infirmary.

" That's enough for today," he said. " Let him rest then ya can hover over him all ya want, granted it doesn't end up exhausting him again."

Those who had been sitting rose, and those already standing move toward the infirmary door, Caldwell first. Elizabeth went to Sheppard's bed first, and took his thin fingers into her hand to squeeze while avoiding the I.V. She didn't say anything since there was nothing to be said. Her eyes, and her relieved and genuinely glad smile said it all. She was happy beyond words to have him back, and if he ever scared her like that again, she was going to kill him.

She had yet to ever make good on that promise.

" Sleep well, John," she did say as parting words.

Teyla placed her hand on John's shoulder and touched her forehead to his before going, Ronon clasped his knee, and Rodney just stood there with arms folded in stubborn resolve.

" Rodney," Carson said as he removed his stethoscope from aruond his neck.

" What?"

" Go get something to eat."

Rodney straightened. " I'm not hungry."

" _Rodney_."

Rodney threw his hands up. " Fine! But I'm coming back."

Carson placed the stethoscope to his ears. " Then you'll be bored out of your mind and making me suffer for it. Eat, rest, and come back tomorrow or I'll do a more thorough exam that involves uncomfortable prodding in uncomfortable places."

" Promises, promises," Rodney mumbled, then finally headed out.

" Oh, I'll make good on it all right," Carson mumbled back. He took John by his upper arm and gently eased him forward. " Quick once over, then ya can rest Colonel," Carson said. He lifted the white scrub shirt and placed the scope against his back. " Breathe in lad, deep as ya can."

John complied inhaling through his nose, held it, then exhaled through his mouth. He felt the bell of the scope slide over his back to the other side, and he repeated the process. The cool air brushing against his bare skin made him shiver. Then Carson lowered the shirt and helped ease him back into the pillows. Carson next slipped the scope down the wide collar of the scrub, and managed to press it without pushing it hard into John's ribs. And John didn't even flinch this time around.

" Hey doc?" John said, twisting the hem of the blankets in his hand.

" Hm?" was Carson's reply.

" Just... uh... Just thought I'd tell ya... Because I know I haven't..." John took a deep, cleansing breath and let it rush from his lungs sharply. " You're a good doctor. Great doctor. Best doctor in the whole damn universe. Thought I'd let you know. So, even when I'm being the biggest pain in the ass I can be, it's not because I don't appreciate what you do, 'cause I do. A lot. Always have, actually."

John glanced at Carson, and startled a little to see Carson staring back at him wide-eyed, until his face broke out with a small smile. He removed the scope from John's chest and his own ears to let hang from his neck. " I always suspected as much, but it's still nice to hear the words." He clasped John's shoulder and his features softened into concern. " Ya all right, son? This isn't some death bed confessional and you're knowin' somethin' I'm not, is it?"

John shook his head as he attempted to twist the edge of the blanket enough to knot it, except it was too thick. " No, just... Just a moment of sudden realization. Sometimes... Moments to express appreciation become lost, and that isn't right... That's all."

Carson nodded and clasped John's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. " True. Get some sleep, John." Beckett then lowered the head of the bed, and pulled the covers higher up John's chest. John squirmed himself deeper beneath the blankets, and Beckett left.

Moisture stung John's eyes.

Maj probably thought he was dead. All the work, the care, the hope... the love... all of it worth nothing to her now. Did she think that? Did she believe she had failed? Was she in Fiel's room now? John could see her there, sitting on the edge of the long-devoid bed. He saw her as he had that day when she spilled her heart and soul to him, weaving her tale of a cherished son ripped from her. Except John couldn't go to her. He wanted to, and reached out for her, but couldn't move beyond the door.

John's eyes snapped open and he gasped. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. The infirmary was dim and silent except for the distant, steady hum that was Atlantis. He loved that hum, but suddenly it was too quiet. Everything was too quiet. He missed, almost painfully, the music of the chimes.

Was Maj sitting on what was once his bed?

John felt a drop of warm moisture slide down his face out of the corner of his eye. How many times can a person have their heart shattered before it could never be pieced back together again? John couldn't deny it. Maj's anguish had been his parting sight.

John sucked in a shuddering breath against a constricted chest.

" Maj, I'm so sorry," he breathed. The ache in his chest exhausted him, and he slipped back into dreams. This time, Maj was sitting on what was once his bed, and he still could not reach her.

SGA

Four Days Later

" The fever hasn't made an attempt at a comeback, and his lungs are clean," John heard Beckett say. He opened his eyes to slits to see Beckett speaking with Elizabeth and Teyla, all standing at the foot of his bed.

" I told him yesterday that there was a good chance I'd be releasing him to his quarters today, so long as nothin's changed."

Elizabeth grinned. " Bet he was excited.

Beckett gritted his teeth. " Ya think he would have been. Don't get me wrong, he was happy, just not to the point of badgerin' me for an earlier release. He's been nothin' but the model patient for the last couple of days."

" Should we be worried?" Elizabeth asked. John would have felt insulted, but knew he deserved it. He'd never been fond of hospitals in general. They made him nervous, and he'd encountered too many doctor's with bedside manners that made Elizabeth's look sparkling and wonderful.

" No. He's been through a lot and I think it's going to take some time for him to get his old energy back. I've been considering having him talk to Kate, but since I know he won't go for it, then talk to whoever would be able to get him to talk, or whoever he would be comfortable talking to. Mood-wise he's been amiable and even smiles a bit, but for the most part he's stayed mostly quiet. And I've caught a few looks of worry on his face, as though he's troublin' over somethin'. I won't be pushin' him to pourin' out his soul. I'd just feel more comfortable knowin' he's talkin' or at least will be talkin' to someone. When he's ready, of course. Like I said, I won't be pushin' him."

John felt a warm sense of relief swell in his chest on hearing that. Beckett really was the best damn doctor in the whole universe.

" So it will still be some time before you will clear the Colonel for gate travel?" Teyla said, and she sounded disappointed.

" Aye lass. At least until his bones have healed properly."

" But as I have said," Teyla added, " This would not be like a mission, but more like an outing. The Alsterak market is still some time away and it is not an overwhelming affair. We would not stay long. I only wished to bring the Colonel that he might see it. It is the largest of the market fairs in our galaxy..."

John squinted. _Alsterak_. It sounded familiar.

" And if the wraith show up?" Beckett countered.

" We would be safe. The fair is held within the Alsterak canyons. The canyon walls are high, with many narrow places, and overhangs of rock that make it difficult for the culling beams to penetrate. It is why the Alsterak market is the largest and most famous. The people of that world have used the canyons for centuries to escape the wraith. And the Colonel will be protected

 _Alsterak, Alsterak, Alsterak._ The name was driving John crazy. He'd heard it before, and not all that long ago.

Beckett shook his head and sighed in consternation. " I still don't know, lass. He definitely won't be fully recovered in a week's time..."

Plus there was the whole matter of Sheppard vanishing on their last 'harmless outing'. But if they kept taking such incidents into consideration, then John would never be allowed to step through the gate again. Crap happened; didn't mean you had to let it dictate the rest of your life.

" Perhaps I'll consider it, pendin' how Colonel Sheppard's farin' then. For now, I'm remaining reluctant."

 _Alsterka, Alsterak, Alsterak..._ John gnawed on his lip as he wracked his hazy memory banks for the origins of the stupid word. Perhaps Teyla had mentioned this fair to him some time ago, or McKay after reading about it in the Ancient Database or something.

 _When the pass came, we would have gone to Alsterak, to the market fair there, the biggest on any of the worlds. Fiel's favorite._

John's heart slammed in his chest, and his breath caught.

 _Will she still go? Is it possible...?_

Elizabeth and Teyla left, Teyla looking a little dejected and Elizabeth reassuring her. Beckett came over to stand beside John's bed, already placing the stethoscope to his ears.

" You know it's impolite to ease drop," Carson said. He pressed the switch to raise the head of the bed. He slid his gloved hand beneath John's shoulder and applied pressure to ease John into sitting forward. " Although I will agree it's hard tryin' not to listen in when people are standin' that close, yappin' away." He lifted the scrub shirt and placed the end of the scope to John's back. " Breathe in."

" Carson, I need to go to that fair."

" As I told Teyla, it's a matter of waitin' and seein'. Now breath in."

John did so, sharply and shortly, releasing it the same way. " No it's not. It's a matter of me needing to be at that fair, for the whole thing if I have to."

Carson moved the scope across John's back, had him breathe, then repositioned it onto John's chest. Carson snorted out a laugh. " Oh, that's certainly not going to be possible..."

John grabbed Beckett's wrist, pulling it away from his chest, until Beckett finally looked up to meet his determined gaze.

" It has to be, doc," John said. He turned his gaze from determined to pleading, and didn't care that he was begging. " Please. Come with me if it'll help. We'll take a Jumper, use it to camp in. Bring two or three if we have to. Carson, I need to go. I can't..." John's voice faltered when his throat constricted, and a film of moisture hazed his vision. He swallowed, and turned his face to the side to blink away the tears that fell no matter how hard he fought them. " I can't pass this up. I can't miss this opportunity."

" Opportunity to do what, son?"

John cleared his throat, and lifted his shoulder to wipe his eyes. " The only payback I've got to give. I owe someone my life. I owe them some peace of mind. I've gotta go there, doc." John looked back at Beckett. " Please."

Beckett stared at John's face, analyzing the desperation, picking apart the pleading, and more than likely struggling against it. The cautionary doctor wanted to say no, the compassionate doctor saw the suffering John no longer kept hidden and wanted to do what was necessary to end it. John couldn't let this opportunity go by, and he would cajole, beg, bug, and if he had to threaten so that it wouldn't.

Finally, Beckett let out a long-suffering sigh that John both knew and that got his hopes to take off like a rocket.

" I'm supposin' this someone to be that Maj lass who saved ya?"

John nodded like an excited kid.

Beckett released a shorter sigh, then shrugged. " All right then." He held up a finger. " But under the condition that you're subject to whatever I tell ya to do..."

John nodded, and started chuckling softly, wiping his eyes again.

" If there's trouble," Beckett continued, " then we're out of there, no arguments..."

John kept on nodding to each of Carson's conditions, and kept on chuckling. If this worked, if he could just find Maj, then it would be enough just to let her know that she hadn't failed, that doing the right thing had paid off.

It would be enough in terms of paying a debt that he would never, ever be able to truly repay.

John wiped the moisture from his eyes a third time with the heel of his hand. " Thank you, Carson, thank you so much..."

Beckett patted John's shoulder. " You're welcome, son."

TBC...


	27. Epilogue

The wagon trundled and rocked over the uneven path that wound through the encompassing, cream, gray, and red striated walls of the canyons. The last echoes of market chatter faded behind her like an ocean wave pulling away. All distant sounds were smothered by the clattering echo of her wagon wheels and the six feet of her lyret padding on the stone path.

Maj's wagon was sparse in the bed concerning goods. Her heart hadn't been in indulging in the items the market had to offer this year. She tried to fool herself into thinking it was because the market wasn't sporting anything worth purchasing, which was difficult to do when she was well aware that she was fooling herself. There had been much to purchase, with plenty to purchase with. Her chimes and other crafts had sold swiftly, and all she had obtained with her earnings and trade was a bag of Fiel's favorite candy, a rope of multi-colored strings she was now using as Ris' collar, and a necklace of metal that reminded her of...

Maj lowered her head, looking down at Ris curled up sleeping in her lap. There had been much prettier necklaces to buy, but that one... She shouldn't have bought it, just like she shouldn't have bought the candy again. She was being a sentimental old fool, holding onto that which was long gone and growing more distant each passing day. But she indulged anyways since she felt herself too old to change, and there was no harm to holding on in small ways.

It just hurt, twice over now that she had twice the reason to hurt.

She allowed for some fooling. Others she didn't. Others she tried to allow, but couldn't. She wanted to believe that John was alive, perhaps rescued by his people, perhaps waiting in a prison to be rescued. She attempted to discover some news about him from the city Enforcer stations. Her answers were always the same – there is no one imprisoned or being held by the name of John Sheppard. Then she was warned with heavy portent that she should really stop looking.

The problem was, Maj tended to be as incorrigible as she had accused John of being.

Maj smiled slightly. It had been so easy to think of John as her son. So easy that despite the heartache, she wished he had been. Except it only made the ache that much sharper. Yet, even with all this accumulation of pain, Maj did not regret her actions. She regretted her failure, but everything else had made the pain worth it. She had tried, and that was what mattered.

 _You're fooling yourself again, you old fool._ Granted, she had wanted him to go stepping through the ring to his own world, not dragged injured, ill and half clothed to be crammed into a prison wagon and more than likely left to die...

Maj's throat tightened, and she swallowed several times until the constriction let off.

 _Stop it, you old wind bag. It is possible that he lived. It is possible that his people found him. It is possible..._

Maj sighed softly. She felt the seat shift, and heard it creak, under Gidel's weight.

" We to camp tonight, aunt Maj?" He asked. " Or is it home with us?"

Maj shrugged. She wasn't quite ready to go home, but she doubted she would come into a shopping frame of mind any time soon. She contemplated visiting another world, perhaps Jystera where Syet and his caravan would be heading to the gate right about now to come to the market. Sometimes traveling the market stalls among friends put her in better spirits to trade.

The canyon walls widened before opening up into the high-grass plains. Traveling was dangerous on the plains road, but the gate was not that far and no word of the wraith had been about in the market, meaning they had not been seen for some time.

The wagon quaked less on the smooth dirt pathway. Maj continued to mull over what they should do next as they traveled. The day waned from afternoon easing toward twilight. The sun inched its way toward the horizon and striped the sky in a rainbow miasma of fiery colors fading to cool violet and deep-sea blue. The ring stood round and black in the distance.

" Syet and his band should be near the ring," Maj said.

Suddenly, Ris' head lifted, and he chirped. The mini-iaret leaped from Maj's lap to go fluttering up over a small rise to the left.

" Ris!" Maj called, already rising before Gidel had time to pull the lyret to a stop.

" Ris, you rotten little pest!" Maj called, climbing from the wagon and trudging up the long incline to the top of the hill through waist high grass. " You know better than to take off on a strange world! I'll have you tied to a stake on a short leash, do you hear me?"

Someone had hear her, someone coming up over the rise, dark against the fading warm colors touching the horizon. Maj jerked to a stop and pulled her rifle around. She didn't aim, just held it at the ready.

" Halt right there, good sir," she called, almost politely. " I'm in no mind to harm but I'm very ready to defend myself."

The figure did stop but seemed to be acting oddly, tilting his head to one side, then jerking it back. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to see Ris in the figure's arms darting at his face, trying to lick it. Maj, however, had become more fixated on the face.

The hair was a give away, the features only confirmed it.

" And undo all your hard work, Maj?" John said, smiling his lop-sided grin.

Maj's jaw dropped, as did her rifle, and she snapped from her second-long moment of frozen shock to go tearing off through the long grass toward the tall, lanky soldier.

" John!" she cried. John lowered Ris to the ground and straightened just in time to catch the shorter Maj up in a tight embrace. Maj heard him grunt, then make the familiar hiss of pain through his teeth.

" Ribs Maj," he gritted. Maj eased up on her embrace but did not let John go. She didn't want to let him go. She kept her arms around him soaking in his solidity, with her ear pressed to his chest, hearing the muffled thump of his heartbeat. She could feel his ribs, and almost laughed when the thought of him being too thin popped into her head, along with foods that would remedy it.

Then she did laugh, along with sob, trying with everything she had not to crush John in her hug.

" You're alive, you're alive, you're alive..." She couldn't say it enough, just like she couldn't hug him enough. She was actually afraid that if she did release him, then she would wake up and he would be gone. She was actually afraid that she had fooled herself into a state of delirium, except she had had such dreams before, and in them she could not feel as she felt now – the slick material of the long sleeved black shirt, the feel of bone through shirt and skin, and the steady thump of a heartbeat against her ear. There could be no fooling herself with the proof so blatant in her arms.

" I'm alive, Maj," John said. " I'm all right. My people found me."

Maj laughed and sobbed harder. There never had been any fooling herself.

She had to mentally yell at herself to release John so she could look him over and take in the sight of him to go along with his solid presence. He looked well, very well, skinny without looking frail, and color to his face. Maj put her hand to her mouth trying to control the joy that kept making her eyes blur with tears. It took her a moment, a very long moment, to compose herself and force her mind to form words, and her mouth to make them coherent.

" How... how are the... the cuts..."

John stepped back and turned to lift the side of his shirt to show her the largest of the three gashes. The stitches were gone, and the marks were hard with scabbing. " You made it easy for our healer to take care of the rest." John lowered the shirt and smoothed it back into place. He looked at Maj, almost shyly, and it made Maj smile a second time.

No matter his age, he was still just a kid to her old eyes.

" How are you, Maj?" he asked.

Maj chuckled and affectionately placed her hands on the sides of his face. " Miserable only a moment ago. Dumbfounded and ecstatic now. John Sheppard, I don't know whether to whip you for leaving me to wonder like that, or crush the breath out of you for being alive, sore ribs or not."

John took Maj by the wrists, lowered her arms, then maneuvered his hands to have her own hands in his.

" I'm sorry, Maj. I'm so sorry for that."

Maj wanted to weep but not out of joy. She squeezed his hands, and gave him a teary smile. " Why are you sorry? Ioth was attempting to do you in, remember? But you lived, and you figured a way to find me. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all. Never did. So don't, please." She didn't attempt to try and convince him of the fault being hers, of not being more wary of Tarl, of not trying harder to protect John, since John would only argue it. In the long distant view of things, it didn't matter. What mattered was who was standing before her now, and she would leave it at that.

She was weary of sorrow.

John released one of Maj's hands to dig into one of the pocket's of his pants. He pulled out a small, rectangle slip of parchment and held it out for Maj to take.

" I thought it only fair that since I got to see your Fiel, I let you see my mom."

The parchment was a picture, a colored picture to Maj's amazement, of a young woman with long hair as dark as John's wearing a yellow dress with flower printing, sitting beneath a tree with thin branches that hung like vines.

" She's lovely, John," she said, and handed the picture back. He slipped it back into his pocket carefully to keep from bending it.

" That's not all I have to show you," he said.

SGA

John's team, plus Beckett, stood in a semi-circle before the hatch of the puddle jumper as John introduced Maj to each of them. Maj greeted Teyla in the Athosian way, and said something to Ronon in Sateda, then giving him her condolences for what had become of his world.

" It is sorely missed," she said, and John was amazed to see Ronon dip his head in an unabashed show of melancholy.

McKay was as polite as he could be with a mini-iaret pawing at his leg, making him nervous. Ris continually kept trying to jump into Rodney's arms, forcing Rodney to take several steps back. John called the iaret off by clicking his fingers, and caught Ris into his own arms when he jumped.

" Just pet the little monster, McKay," he said, shoving Ris into the reluctant physicist's arms. " Give him a little attention and he'll back off."

Everyone had a good chuckle over Rodney's rigid stance and Ris rubbing his head into McKay's chest. Teyla scratched the top of Ris' head.

" He is very soft," she said.

McKay swallowed. " Yeah, soft. Then why don't you take it?"

Teyla smirked. " Because he seems to favor you more."

The introductions moved on to Beckett, who was quick about diving into questions concerning the poultice he had found still clinging to some of John's wounds.

" Quite wonderful stuff," he said. " Made my job a wee bit easier, I'll tell ya now."

Maj actually blushed at that.

Gidel was introduced when he finally managed to bring the wagon up the hill. As John had anticipated, he and Ronon hit it off quite well when Gidel asked him about his weapon, which ended up leading to short, precise, to the point conversations concerning hunting and tracking.

A patch of earth and a fire ring of stones had been set up days ago, along with fold-able chairs and stools. Dried grass was tossed into the pit and lit, and extra chairs brought out from the jumper. John told Maj of trying to seek her out at the market. After three days of looking, he'd finally settled for just waiting by the ring. He had suspected that Ris would find him before he had found them, and wouldn't pass up the opportunity to see his favorite 'pet' human.

After that, the conversations became more casual. Gidel and Ronon were lost in their discussions of tracking, and Maj was plaguing Beckett with just as many questions as he was plaguing her with. Maj was sitting between John and Beckett, and as she talked to the highland doctor, she kept one hand on John's back, occasionally rubbing it. So when John started shivering at the brush of cool night air leaking through his clothes, Maj didn't even break stride in her explanation of how to make certain poultices as she headed to her wagon and pulled out a blanket to drape around John's shoulders.

Rodney, absently stroking Ris curled up in his lap, leaned in toward John. " She's worse with the henning than Carson."

John just shrugged. " I'm not going to complain," and wrapped the colorful woven blanket tighter around himself.

Beckett had been right when he said that John wouldn't be completely mended. He was seventy percent closer to being there, which was better than sixty, John supposed. He felt fine except for some aches, but tired easily. As the night moved on, John found himself drifting, then snapping awake when hit with the sensation of falling before he actually fell.

Again, Maj was all over it. The next time John returned to reality, it was more gradual, and he found himself leaning against Maj with his head on her shoulder and her arm wrapped around him, keeping him upright. Some part of him knew he should have been embarrassed – a grown man being coddled by a small, elderly woman. He wasn't though. In fact, he didn't care.

One did not have to be blood to be family. And John had the feeling that Maj needed this just as much as he did.

It's not often that someone comes along who knows how to piece a broken heart back together – twice.

 _sssssssssssssssssssss_

It was odd, but saying good-bye as good-bye was meant to be said wasn't as hard as John thought it would be. If anything, it was actually happy. A little tearful, mostly on Maj's part, but the right kind of tears. Tears that seemed to shine on the widely beaming face cast in bright gold from the rising sun.

They exchanged gate addresses for worlds where they could meet at certain appointed times, just to ensure that the other was still alive and well. John also gave Maj two other items. One was a photo of him in front of a puddle jumper to give to Kari and Dev. Not that he could take it with him should they ever return to earth on a permanent basis. Second, he gave her his black wrist band.

" I wear this to remember," he said.

" Then won't you need it?"

He shrugged. " I've got another one. In my line of work, it's always good to have a spare of everything."

Maj grinned. " Most wise of you."

In return, Maj gave him two items. One of which John was surprised to see.

Two bladed sticks, not as ornate as the ones used to kill the wraith hound, but similar in length and shape.

" I got these since you've proven them to be so useful, and thought a spare set might not be so bad. But I doubt I'll use either set, and you fare so much better with them."

John smiled and twirled both sticks in his hands. He glanced over at Teyla, who lifted an eyebrow in a silent 'we are not stick fighting with those'.

The second item Maj gave him was wrapped in brown cloth. After the gifts were exchanged, Maj reached up and wrapped her arms around John, giving him a light pat on the back.

" You take care of yourself, John," she said. " And try not to undo all my hard work."

John grinned. " I'll promise to try, but that's all I can do."

She squeezed him a little tighter. " I suppose I'll have to take it then, what with you so intent on saving everyone and all." She then released him, but not before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, which John did feel embarrassed about. He wasn't ten years old, for crying out loud. Which was rather ironic, since at ten he had thought something along similar lines, complaining that he wasn't six.

Maj released him and started heading toward her wagon with Gidel. John moved the other way with his team to the jumper. He lifted his hand in a wave.

" Bye mom!" he called.

Maj, already in the wagon, pointed a stiff finger at him. " What did I say about getting smart with me?" She waved a hand in mock dismissive irritation, all grins and shaking her head trying not to laugh. That was what John saw on entering the jumper and turning to head to the controls.

On arriving home, it was straight to the infirmary with him for a quick check. He was then herded into the mess hall by his team for more breakfast since Beckett hadn't thought an MRE and a few pieces of fruit sufficient. Elizabeth joined them for an unofficial mission report that had her stifling too many laughs on hearing about Rodney and Ris.

" Not a bad little monster," Rodney said, " once it finally stops trying to crawl all over you."

After breakfast, John went straight to his quarters for a nap. Part out of Beckett's orders, and part because he really was tired.

Maj's second present was sitting, still wrapped, on his bed. John unwrapped it, then searched for a place to put it, settling for one of the branches of the small potted tree in the corner of his room. He then untied and kicked off his boots, and dropped back onto his bed, wriggling his now unconfined toes and folding his hands over his stomach. He sighed out a breath and let himself melt into the mattress that eased the aches from his bones. His eyelids slid closed of their own accord, then his mind slipped away to the quiet music of a white crystal wind chime flashing colors on the walls.

The End


End file.
